


Rorschach Blots

by RoughDraftHero



Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, D/s, M/M, Power Play, Slash, Spanking, Student/Teacher, stoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-22
Updated: 2013-04-22
Packaged: 2017-12-09 05:49:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/770709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoughDraftHero/pseuds/RoughDraftHero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sev won't analyze why he wants to spank his teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> People tell me I suck at summaries, so i will say this: Rorschach Blots is about a kid in his senior year of high school. He's lost, he's losing his best friend. Everything sucks. Then he sees something he wasn't supposed to.

Sev liked the art classroom.

It was big and drafty, and obviously a place for fun. People didn't come there to hunch over and hope the teacher didn't call on them to come to the board. No, they came to chat with friends and do art, and for a brief moment forget that they were stuck at school.

He also liked that it had a back patio, with an old couch pushed up against the tinted window of the classroom. The door to the patio was never locked, so he would sneak out there whenever the fuck time he wanted, and lounge in the shade.

Bringing the joint to his lips, he inhaled, holding the smoke in his lungs for several moments before breathing out. It burned his throat still, but he was past worrying about it. The couch felt like it was hugging him.

He should have probably put the joint out sooner, it had been rolled with Finch and Janey in mind. But … they hadn't shown up, and now Sev was stoned out of his mind.

There were five fingers on each hand, he thought to himself. How nice.

Finch ditching him was kind of bullshit, though. Especially for that bitch, Janey. She was an uptight bitch, alright.

Sev took another drag, nibbling the tip for a moment, and then giggling at the soggy joint. He let his arm fall, his hand dangling limply over the armrest of the couch. Each breath felt so labored and deliberate, and he thought to himself that the inner workings of the human body must be so complicated.

Where was Finch? School was over … did he and Janey go straight home?

Sev looked at the phone cradled in his other hand. No messages. Well, fuck him. Fuck Finch. Finch fucking Janey. Jesus.

Closing his eyes, Sev tilted his head back until it hit the glass wall of the art room. Maybe he would just sleep here tonight. Wouldn't Mr. Duarte be so shocked when he saw Sev was the first person in class tomorrow?

That thought made Sev giggle. He covered his mouth, swallowing- which only made his dry throat ache, but his body kept shaking with laughter.

He stopped when he heard a groan. Froze, actually, and then in a moment of panic, threw the joint across the patio, where it hit the brick wall that surrounded the entire high school. He ducked down, covering his head.

Was it a groan? Maybe it was-

"Uuhnnn."

Sev bit his lip, blinking his eyes as he tried to focus. He flinched when, suddenly, a sharp 'slap' sound rang out, followed by another moan. What … ?

Slowly moving upwards, he peeked over the edge of the couch, and cursed when he remembered that the window was tinted. He had to smoosh his nose against the glass just to see what was happening inside the classroom.

His eyes widened.

There was … Mr. Duarte. He was bent over one of the art tables, his knees resting on a chair with its back pushed up against the edge of the table. Peering closer into the window, his hands splayed out like starfish against the glass, Sev's breath hitched when he saw that Mr. Duarte's pants were pushed slightly down, exposing a firm ass.

Mr. Duarte was breathing heavily, his back taut, and his bottom sticking up in the air. He had one slender arm under his chest, where he digging his fingers into his skin. His other hand … held a folded belt, and his arm was stretched back in what looked like an uncomfortable position.

"What the fuck," Sev breathed, his mouth dropping when Mr. Duarte lifted the belt, and then brought it down on his own ass with a tremendous smack. A small hiss escaped his lips, and then he pressed his forehead down on the table, his entire body shaking.

He laid like that for several moments, and Sev couldn't take his eyes off of him. "Mr. Duarte … " Sev said slowly, "You're a pervert."

As if Sev had been heard, Mr. Duarte suddenly turned his head to the window. Sev immediately dived back down behind the couch with a squeak.

After several moments, he figured Mr. Duarte hadn't seen him, and rolled around to his back. His eyes widened.

"What are you going to do?"

Mr. Duarte was standing over him, a slight sheen of sweat covering his forehead, and his cheeks tinged with red. He had put his clothing back together, his shirt buttoned, his pants pulled up, and … the belt sitting through the loops. Sev found himself gawking at Mr. Duarte's waist.

"Sev."

"Mr. Duarte," Sev replied, looking up, hissing when the sun behind Mr. Duarte's head hit his eyes. He covered his face with both his hands. "Ow."

"Are you high, Sev?"

"Ha, no," Sev replied, wiggling his fingers against his face. "Why would I get high at school? That's stupid."

"It smells like pot out here."

"It smells like pervert out here."

There was silence above him, and Sev slid his fingers apart to see Mr. Duarte looking to the side. Mr. Duarte's hands were balled into fists, his shoulders tense. There was a stubborn tilt to his lips, but slowly, his face crumpled. "Sev," he said, barely above a whisper, "What are you going to do?"

Sev pushed his long, brown hair back, tucking it behind his ears. "Nuthin, Mr. Duarte," he said, "It's none of my business."

"But you'll tell your friends," Mr. Duarte said, "Or post it on the internet."

"It stays with me," Sev replied, his lip curling up in a languid smile as he placed his hand over his chest. "I swear on my mother."

Mr. Duarte took a step towards him. "Listen to me, you brat, this isn't a joking matter. It's my life, my career … " Pausing, he grimaced, and then began speaking again, his tongue moving in desperate clicks. "If you even think about opening your trap to one of your loser friends, I will go straight to the principle, and tell him you've been smoking weed out here-"

Sev slapped his hand down on his knee, the sound of which made Mr. Duarte flinch. "Don't act like a bitch, Mr. Duarte," he growled, "I already swore I wouldn't."

Raising an eyebrow, he watched with interest as Mr. Duarte suddenly shivered. "Ah, fine," Mr. Duarte said, brushing a hand over the top of his head. He was shifting awkwardly, his usually tidy, black hair falling in disarray over his eyes. "You did, indeed."

"Still," he continued, and then paused. He opened and closed his mouth several times before sighing, and sitting down on the couch beside Sev. "Why are you smoking out here, Sev? Don't you know you could get into a lot of trouble?"

Sev looked down at Mr. Duarte's hunched, stiff form, and shrugged. "If I got caught, I would just tell them that this is right. This is perfect. They would never take me away. Once they knew how right this is."

A small smile graced Mr. Duarte's lips as he looked up at Sev from the corner of his eye. "You really are baked right now, aren't you?"

Flopping back against the couch, a world-weary sigh escaping his lips as he closed his eyes, Sev grinned. "It slows the whole world down, Mr. Duarte."

"I think you should quit."

Cracking an eye open, Sev's smile melted. "Why? You a narc, Mr. Duarte?"

Mr. Duarte snorted. "Narc?" he replied, cocking an eyebrow. "Kids these days … "

Sev felt a small knot in his stomach, and he shoved Mr. Duarte's shoulder. Mr. Duarte looked back at him with raised eyebrows, his mouth hanging open. "What?" he asked.

"I don't know," Sev replied, still staring at Mr. Duarte. After a moment, "Don't call me a kid."

Just as Mr. Duarte opened his mouth to respond, there was a shout from inside the classroom. "Caleb?" came a deep voice, "Caleb, come on, we can still make the four-thirty train."

Sev looked at Mr. Duarte. "Who's Caleb?" he said with a conspiratorial whisper. Mr. Duarte smiled at him, and then grabbed his shoulder, shoving him down on the couch. Standing up, he straightened his shirt, and trotted back inside the classroom. Sev paused for a moment, and then strained his hearing, trying to pick up on the voices drifting back out.

"Why were you outside?"

"Just tidying up after the kids," Mr. Duarte replied. Sev peeked over the edge of the couch, and blinked when he realized he was looking at the P.E. teacher, Mr. Simmons. He was standing in close proximity to Mr. Duarte, leaning in towards him.

"Isn't that what the janitor is for?" Mr. Simmons breathed, looking at his watch. He wrapped a hand around Mr. Duarte's wrist. "Let's hit the road, Caleb, I don't want to miss the train."

''''

Sev traipsed down the shoulder of the road, his shirt half off and dangling over his shoulder, his tanned, muscled abdomen shining with sweat. He had a lean build, but he figured that was because he was still eighteen and, if his father was any type of proof, he would be able to bulk up someday.

Reflecting on that, he was suddenly brought back to Mr. Duarte's silhouette in the tinted window.

Mr. Duarte had the thicker body of an adult man, but he still looked pretty small. He probably never bench-pressed three hundred pounds when he was in high school.

Sliding his slicked-with-sweat hair out of his eyes, Sev cursed the sun, and moved a little faster. Cars blasted by him on the country freeway, and he yelled out when a big-rig thundered by, making him dizzy. He stumbled off the road, and crouched in the adjacent corn field. Heat seemed to be radiating off the stalks.

He groaned, pressing his forehead into his arms. The water in the soil was rising up in the heat, casting a humid pall throughout the field.

What had Mr. Simmons said? They would miss the train? Did they live together?

Did they live together somewhere better than this stupid hick town?

He looked across the freeway, at the fruit stand. He could see Finch working there, selling pistachios and corn to passing travellers. Janey was probably there too, under that sweltering tarp. Probably just nagging, nagging, nagging. She loved to nag Finch about what he was going to do after high school, if he was going to be working at his father's fruit stand forever.

Standing up, he hopped back on the shoulder, and waited for several cars to zoom by, and then trotted across.

"Hey man," Finch said when he saw Sev. Sev nodded, and grabbed a pistachio, tossing the whole thing in his mouth, and biting down on the crack in the shell.

"That can't be good for your teeth," Janey said from behind Finch, where she was draped over a plastic folding chair. She was holding a portable fan up to her face.

Sev grinned, and pulled the shell from his mouth. He bit down on the soft meat of the pistachio, and then lobbed the shell pieces at Janey, laughing when she glared at him. "Mind your own business, Plain-Jane."

"You're such an asshole," she replied, her lip curling up. She shrugged. "I don't get why you hate me so much, Sev."

Staring at her with half-lidded eyes, Sev frowned. Janey always managed to end anything he tried to start. He hated it.

"Sev," Finch cut in quietly, "If you're just gonna take food and be an ass to Janey … "

"Sorry," Sev replied immediately. He held his hands up, palms forward. "Sorry, Janey, ok? I'm high as fuck, and it's hot as fuck."

She stared at him with a cocked head for a minute, and then shrugged again. "It is pretty hot."

"Right?" Sev replied, a small giggle escaping his lips. He ducked under the fruit stand table, and flopped down on the dirt beside Janey's chair, leaning back on his hands. After a moment, he felt her hand brushing through his hair.

"You should cut it," she said, "Your neck would be cooler."

He tilted his head away from her touch, and he felt her pull her fingers back. Whatever, he didn't want her touching him. Instead, he let his eyes follow Finch's deliberate movements as Finch counted the money in the register. "How long have you guys been out here?" Sev asked, speaking mostly to Finch.

"Since school," Janey replied, "We looked for you in the parking lot, but you weren't there."

"I was at the art room."

He saw Finch stiffen. "Ah," Finch said, "That was today."

"What's going on, man?" Sev replied, "You don't want to get high anymore? What else is there to do in this piece-of-shit town?"

He was starting to come down- just enough to know how whiny he sounded. Still, Finch hadn't even looked at him, and stupid Janey was still breathing down his neck. He shifted restlessly a few times, and then stood up, joining Finch at the fruit stand table. "Did you really forget?" he asked, his eyes resting on Finch's placid face.

"No."

"Because that would be-" Sev paused. "What?"

"I didn't forget," Finch said, his jaw tight. "I just didn't want to go."

Sev felt sick suddenly, his mouth twisting as he fought off dizziness. "Well, then," he said slowly, "Maybe it would have been polite to throw me a fucking text?"

Finch ignored him. "Fuck you," Sev said, grabbing a tomato from the pile. He threw it at the ground, grinning as it splattered. "I don't have to fucking deal with this shit."

As he stomped away, he could hear Janey yelling at Finch for being such a jerk. God, he hated her.

'''''

The bell rang, and he listened to the kids streaming out to the parking lot. He couldn't see them from the couch outside of the art room.

He had climbed over the wall just to get to the patio without actually going through the classroom.

If he had gone through the classroom … Mr. Duarte would have seen him. And if Mr. Duarte had seen him, he probably wouldn't do that thing he was doing the day before. The thing that Sev wanted to see again, maybe just for the novelty of it.

How twisted did Mr. Duarte have to be to do this in his classroom? Was he stupid enough to keep doing it after he had been caught? Sev crouched low on the couch, watching for any signs of movement in the classroom. So far, the coast had been clear. Sighing, he slid down to his back, and dropped his arm over his eyes.

After a few minutes, just as he was dozing off, he heard the scrape of a chair.

He was already on his feet, moving to the door. Peering around the door frame, he smirked when he saw Mr. Duarte had positioned himself facing away from the window.

Once again, Mr. Duarte had bent himself over an art table, dangling his knees down on a chair. His ass was sticking in the air, his back arched downwards. He was clawing at his chest, even as he hit himself with the belt. Little pained hisses escaped his lips every time the leather touched his skin

"Why do you do that here?"

"Jesus!"

Jerking up, Mr. Duarte slipped and fell, banging his chin on the table. He tightened up for a moment, cradling his face. Sev didn't think as he trotted to the table, and leaned over next to Mr. Duarte. He gently ran his hand over Mr. Duarte's hair, as if he were petting him. "Why do you do that here?" he repeated, "You have your own place, right? One of the advantages of being an adult?"

Mr. Duarte was still holding his mouth, and grimacing. Sev moved his hand to Mr. Duarte's back, and rubbed it in languid circles. "I'm sorry I scared you."

Making a grunt of protest, Mr. Duarte pushed Sev's hand away, not unkindly, and rolled to his back. He sat up and slid off the table, pulling his pants up without looking at Sev. His head was bowed. "Sev," he said slowly, "I really wish you didn't hang out here."

They both froze when they heard the click of the art room doorknob turning. It caught on the lock, and there was a moment of silence. Finally, "Caleb? Why are you locking the door?"

Mr. Duarte sighed, and moved to open the door. Sev caught his wrist, and he looked over his shoulder with raised eyebrows. "Fix your clothes," Sev mouthed, pointed at Mr. Duarte's fly. Sev felt his lip curl up with amusement when Mr. Duarte's face flushed red as he quickly zipped his pants with shaking fingers.

"Caleb?"

"Alright," Mr. Duarte barked, his voice hoarse. He stepped to the door, and put his key in, unlocking it. He had to jump back when the door suddenly shot open.

"Why are you locking it?" Mr. Simmons said, stepping inside. By the time he noticed Sev, he already had one arm around Mr. Duarte's waist, and was pressing his hand against the small of Mr. Duarte's back. His eyes widened when they landed on Sev, and he quickly released Mr. Duarte.

"Sev," he said, chuckling nervously, "Didn't see you there." He cocked his head. "You taking art?"

Sev shrugged, scowling.

"Well, don't waste your time here," Mr. Simmons said, crossing his arms, "You should come back to the swim team."

"Don't they make us take drug tests?" Sev replied, mirroring Mr. Simmons as he crossed his own arms. He tried not compare his wiry teenager arms with Mr. Simmons' adult, buff arms.

"Ah," Mr. Simmons snorted.

"Sev," Mr. Duarte cut in, his voice tight. Mr. Simmons looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and then plopped his hand down on Mr. Duarte's shoulder, surprising Mr. Duarte, and almost making him buckle.

"Caleb," he said, "You should try to convince Sev here to come back to the swim team. He had a lot of potential."

Mr. Duarte looked to the ground. "Ok."

"Fantastic," Mr. Simmons replied. He sighed after a pause. "I was just coming to tell you I have a date tonight, so I won't be coming home."

Stiffening for a moment, Mr. Duarte's face went rigid, but then he quickly relaxed. "Ok," he said again.

"Good," Mr. Simmons said, patting Mr. Duarte's head. "I'll see you tomorrow."

When the door clicked shut behind Mr. Simmons, Sev turned on Mr. Duarte. "I knew you were a fag!" he breathed, "All those pastel cardigans and sweater vests, I knew it!"

"Sev!" Mr. Duarte replied, looking genuinely hurt, "Don't use that word." He glanced at the door for a moment, and then back at Sev.

That's when Sev noticed Mr. Duarte had gone stark white, the blood draining from his face. He was inching back away from Sev, his shoulder turned slightly towards the door. He was shaking too, but it was barely noticeable. Sev frowned.

"Come on," he said, closing the distance between himself and Mr. Duarte. "If I didn't freak out about your weird pervert thing, do you really think I would bash you for being gay?"

"I've been threatened here before," Mr. Duarte replied, his voice low. He took another step backwards, his back hitting the door. Annoyed, Sev matched his movement with a step forward, and now had Mr. Duarte pinned. Sev could see Mr. Duarte's bottom lip trembling. He really was scared.

"I know this is a shit town," Sev said, "but I'm not … "

Mr. Duarte looked away from him, and brought his hand to his forehead. "Shit …" he said quietly, "This is too fucked up." Sev saw his jaw clench. "Listen, Sev," he said, "I'll try to find a job somewhere else, ok? Just please don't say anything until I do."

"No!" Sev shouted, surprising even himself. He immediately regretted his outburst when Mr. Duarte flinched, covering his face with curled fingers. Sev's jaw dropped a little. "Have you been hurt before?" he asked, wrapping his hand around Mr. Duarte's wrist, and pulling it away from his face.

Mr. Duarte still couldn't meet his eyes. "I've been jumped before, I grew up in a really conservative town."

"Oh," Sev replied, and then grimaced. Way to sound really lame, Sev. "Um," he continued, "I won't say anything, I won't do anything either. I'm not a bad guy, Mr. Duarte."

"Yeah, but you're a teenager," Mr. Duarte said, "and this is my responsibility." He gently pulled his wrist out of Sev's grasp, and slid around him. "Please don't come to the art room after school anymore, Sev," he said, "and I'll promise not to … do what I've been doing. And I'll leave, when I find another job."

Sev stared at him, playing with the corner of his shirt. "Well," he said, watching as Mr. Duarte went to his desk, and started to gather his things. "You don't have to, really. I'm a senior, so I'll be gone by the end of the year."

This made Mr. Duarte hesitate. "Really?"

"Yeah," Sev replied, "but … you have to tell me one thing."

Mr. Duarte looked up at him with a resigned frown, as if he knew what was coming. "What?"

"Why do you do that?"

Sighing, Mr. Duarte's shoulders slumped, and he fell down into his chair. Leaning forward, he rested his face in his hands, rubbing his temples. "It's not something I can put into words." He paused for a moment. "It's not something I should put into words, not with you."

"Mr. Duarte," Sev replied, "I'm eighteen. I'm an adult."

There was a pause. "Fine," he said, "I like the pain."

"Uh … " Sev stuttered, crossing his arms, "You get off on it?"

There was a breath of amusement. "No, it's not about that. It's … I feel better after I do it, like I've atoned for something."

"That's sick," Sev replied, and then blushed when Mr. Duarte looked up at him. Mr. Duarte stood up, briefcase in hand, and walked back to Sev and the doorway, gesturing for Sev to leave.

"I appreciate your humoring me," Mr. Duarte said, "Despite how grossly inappropriate this situation is, and how much I've failed as a teacher. Hopefully we can move past it, and not dwell on everything. Just act normally during class, and none of this has to come up again."

Sev stared at Mr. Duarte's rigid face. "You just wanna act like nothing happened?"

"Right," Mr. Duarte replied.

Frowning, Sev kept staring at Mr. Duarte, with his slender build, and his crisp outfit. "No."

Mr. Duarte blanched, and Sev felt a taste of triumph at shaking an adult.

"What?" Mr. Duarte said, going slightly pale again.

Sev considered his next words carefully. "Let me do it, Mr. Duarte. It can't be as satisfying when you have to do it to yourself." He grabbed Mr. Duarte's upper arms, causing Mr. Duarte to drop his briefcase in surprise. "Don't you want that? Someone else to do that thing to you?"

"That thing?" Mr. Duarte replied, the first hint of anger lacing his voice. His jaw clenched. "Sev, it's called spanking, and no, not really. I really don't want someone else to do it to me, especially not a student."

Sev's fingers dug into Mr. Duarte's arms. "I could make it hurt so much worse than you can."

There was a slight rosy tinge to Mr. Duarte's cheeks, his lips parting as he stared up at Sev. His breaths had turned a little ragged, but he stood pliant in Sev's grip. "That's .. " he said slowly, "You have no idea what you're saying. You've never paddled someone, never belted them. It's not as easy as it sounds, making someone hurt like that."

Sev had to admit, his stomach turned at the word "belted", making him queasy. Mr. Duarte saw the slight flicker in his expression, and tried to pull away. "See?" Mr. Duarte said, straining against Sev's grip, "That's not something you expected, is it?"

"No," Sev replied, "You're right." He bit his lip. "Still, I can do the other thing, I can spank you."

"Sev-" Mr. Duarte replied, but was cut off when Sev suddenly shoved him around, and wrapped an arm around his waist. "Sev!" he repeated, panic lacing his voice as Sev elbowed his back down, making his bend slightly.

Ignoring him, Sev raised his hand, and brought it down on Mr. Duarte's clothed bottom. When he heard a surprised intake of breath, he did it again. "Mr. Duarte," he said, clasping his arm more tightly around Mr. Duarte's struggling body, "How does it feel?" He wheezed when Mr. Duarte's elbow hit him in the gut, and they both dropped to the ground.

Sev recovered quickly, and fisted the back of Mr. Duart's shirt. He leaned his weight in, continuing to spank Mr. Duarte. He could hear the frustrated whimpers coming from Mr. Duarte's mouth, but that just egged him on. Finally, he grabbed for Mr. Duarte's waistband.

"Sev!"

He paused, hearing the finality in Mr. Duarte's voice. "Sev," Mr. Duarte continued, breathing heavily, "Jesus, why … you can't do this to me."

"And you can't just tell me to pretend I didn't see anything," Sev replied, looking over until their eyes met. Mr. Duarte's eyes were glossy and bright . Sev gulped at that. "Please, Mr. Duarte," he breathed, "Let me do this."

Mr. Duarte raised an eyebrow at his pleading. "Why do you even want to?"

"I … " Sev replied slowly, "You said you like being hurt. Well … I really want to hurt someone."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Mr. Duarte was still breathing heavily, his lips parted.

His cheeks were flushed, one side of his face pressed against the ground, and his fingers were curled, as if he was trying to claw his way through the tile floor of the art room. Leaning over, Sev kept his hand on Mr. Duarte's back, but he lowered himself to the side, so that they could see each other better.

"Are you ok?" Sev asked.

Mr. Duarte was staring at Sev, but he didn't look upset. He did look a little embarrassed.

"It wasn't that much," Sev said, his eyebrows knitting, "I mean, you even still had your pants on-"

"You … " Mr. Duarte cut in, the words strained, "You just assaulted me, you realize that, right?"

Feeling a slight drop in his stomach, Sev sat back on his haunches. "But, you like that stuff."

Mr. Duarte rolled his eyes, shutting them as he bit his lip. "Sev," he replied slowly, "Use common sense. Just because I like it, doesn't mean it's ok for anyone to just start hitting me." He breathed out through his nose, "You have to get permission- consent, to touch anyone like that, do you understand?"

"It's not like I raped you," Sev snapped back.

"Jesus, Sev," Mr. Duarte replied with a disbelieving laugh.

Sev immediately flushed, bowing his head "... Sorry."

There was a sigh, and then: "Can you move your hand?"

Looking back up, he realized he still had his weight bearing down on Mr. Duarte's back. He stared at his hand, tangled in the folds of Mr. Duarte's shirt. He didn't want to move it.

Briefly considering ignoring Mr. Duarte's request, Sev caught Mr. Duarte's gaze, and bit his lip. Mr. Duarte's face was tight with disappointment, and he was staring at Sev, waiting with the patience of an adult. He was treating Sev like a kid, and that only made Sev want to start slapping his ass again.

He lifted his hand.

There was a shift, and Mr. Duarte rolled up to a sitting position, slumping slightly as he rubbed his back. Inching forward, Sev held out his hand. "I can do that for you … "

"No," Mr. Duarte replied, "Absolutely no." He ran his tongue over his teeth, still looking at the ground rather than Sev. After a moment, a long, weak sigh escaped his lips, and he bowed his head, resting his face in his hands. "I could get in so much trouble for this."

"I was the one who-"

Mr. Duarte looked at Sev from the corner of his eye. "You were wrong to do that," he said, cutting Sev off, "and honestly, you know the difference between right and wrong, Sev." He paused, his jaw clenching. "But that doesn't change the fact that I'm a teacher, yourteacher, and I should never have let you seen what you did."

After a moment, Mr. Duarte broke eye contact, and tried to get to his feet, his legs shaking a little. Sev watched silently, until he noticed the tremor in Mr. Duarte's body, and immediately jumped to his feet, and reached forward again. "Here," he said, "Let me help you."

Mr. Duarte slapped at his hands. "Sev," he said, his voice hoarse. He was on his hands and knees now. "You can't touch me ever again, how more clear can I be?"

"Not even to help you stand up?" Sev replied, his fingers folding into his palms.

Snorting, Mr. Duarte shook his head, and ignored Sev. He got his feet, and dusted his knees off. "This is a nightmare," he breathed, as he tried to comb his hair with his hands. There was a pause, and he slowly looked at Sev with narrowed eyes. "What did you mean, when you said you wanted to hurt someone?"

Sev blinked at the suspicion in Mr. Duarte's tone. "I, uh," he said, stumbling over the words, "Not like hurt, hurt someone … "

Mr. Duarte's lips thinned. He swallowed, and looked down at the ground. "Are you okay, Sev?" he said, his voice quiet, "... I can find you help."

There was a sound of disbelief from the back of Sev's throat. "You can find me help?" he said, stepping towards Mr. Duarte. He immediately backed off when he saw Mr. Duarte pale, but he could still feel himself vibrating with annoyance. "What about you? What about … " His voice died for a second, and then he said, "What makes you think I need help?"

"I just know that you haven't been doing as well in school lately," Mr. Duarte replied, raising his hands with a placating tilt of his head, "and now I know you're smoking pot, and you quit the swim team … "

"So?" Sev barked, crossing his arms.

"And I see the way you … well, I can tell that it's been hard having less time with your best friend."

An image of Finch and Janey giggling and smearing paint on each other's noses, while Sev moped next to them during Art flashed in Sev's mind. He was taken aback for a moment, but then felt that heat of stubbornness burning his cheeks. "What?" he said caustically, "You been watching me, Mr. Duarte? You obsessed with me?"

Mr. Duarte stared at him with a small frown. "I know you can't respect me anymore, but don't let that stop you from finding … " he paused, obviously trying to find the words. "I just hope you talk to someone, so you can get your feelings out."

Breathing out with amusement, Sev cocked an eyebrow. "Why not just let me get my feelings out on your ass?"

Mr. Duarte's gaze jerked to him, and Sev bit his lip when he saw a trace of disappointment. "Enough, Sev," Mr. Duarte said, "This is it, we're not going to talk about it anymore."

'''

Sev was slumped over the art table, using one gawky arm as a pillow, and the other he held up to his face, his hand curved in an 'o' as he looked through it like a telescope. Through the small loop, he watched Mr. Duarte trying to explain to a student that if the student really wanted to imitate dried blood on his painting, it shouldn't be cherry red.

Lip curling with amusement, he snorted as Mr. Duarte splattered a rusty maroon against a sheet of paper while making a fake yell of agony.

"What's funny?"

He frowned. "Nothing."

Sighing beside him, Janey leaned over the table too, blocking his view. "Can't you guys just kiss and make up?"

"Shut up, Janey. We're not fighting." He looked up at her. "We're not girls."

Her lips thinned. "Not even girls act this passive-aggressive, Sev," she replied, "You even moved tables so that you didn't have to sit with us."

Breathing out with amusement, Sev ignored her and shook his head. He flattened his hand down on the table, recalling the way Mr. Duarte had looked splayed out on top of it.

Sev had come in first thing that morning, catching Mr. Duarte's eye with a smirk, and then plopping down at the table Mr. Duarte had used the day before, winking when Mr. Duarte looked at him with a an open mouth. The color had drained from Mr. Duarte's face, and Sev had leaned back in his chair, triumphant.

"Fuck off," he said, closing his eyes.

"Come on, Sev," she pushed on, "Finch is your best friend, he'll listen if you talk to him. He listens to you."

"He didn't listen to me when I told him he had a slut for a girlfriend."

There was a thud, and Sev hissed when he felt himself being pulled back by his collar, the front legs of his chair lifting off the ground as it tilted back. His gaze to the ceiling, he blushed when he saw Finch standing over him, eyes wide with anger. "Apologize to her, Sev," he said with a tight voice.

Sev's jaw jutted out. "Fuck off," he repeated. He winced as he was released, falling forward, his elbows hitting the table. A couple of other students looked up from what they were doing, staring at Sev and Finch.

"Guys?"

Mr. Duarte had walked over, his eyebrows raised as he looked from Finch to Sev. He didn't look at Sev for very long. "Is everything ok?"

"Yes," Janey cut in, "They were just fucking around."

"Language, Janey," Mr. Duarte sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. He had his head tilted to the side, his gaze downcast. Sev frowned, narrowing his eyes at Mr. Duarte.

"Ok," Sev said, his lip curling upwards, "We were dicking around."

There were a couple of snickers, and Mr. Duarte looked at him, his expression flat. Sev immediately felt his ears burn red, and he cleared his throat, his defiant gaze deflating as he looked away from Mr. Duarte. Could he have said anything more immature and lame? It wasn't even funny.

"Yes, well," Mr. Duarte said, "Either way, please try not to make a commotion in the middle of class, boys."

"Sorry," Finch said from above Sev, and then there was a tick of silence as everyone waited for Sev to say something. His hands were balled into fists under the table as he stared up at Mr. Duarte. They kept eye contact for another moment, and then Mr. Duarte looked away.

"Alright," Mr. Duarte said quietly, and then backed away. He walked with jerky movements to his office, where Sev could see him sit down at his desk, and rest his chin on his hand through the glass partition. Unfurling his fingers, Sev turned in his chair to stand up, when he realized that Finch and Janey were still next to him.

"Ahhh … " he said, grinning, "I'm so sorry. I've been a real asshole, right?"

Janey frowned at him, a 'tsch' of disbelief clicking on her tongue.

Snorting, Sev shrugged, jumping up and ducking past Finch. He trotted over to the office, where Mr. Duarte was still hunched at his desk. He quietly approached Mr. Duarte, and then leaned over him, resting his hand against the desk, as he spoke into Mr. Duarte's ear. "Hey," he breathed, "What are you doing?"

Mr. Duarte hissed in surprise, bending slightly, distancing the space between him and Sev. "Shit," he said, "Sev, this is too much."

"Language, Mr. Duarte," Sev replied, the corner of his lip curling up. He leaned in closer, his lips barely inches away from Mr. Duarte's ear. "You're the one acting like a spazz."

He could see Mr. Duarte tense, and look out at the classroom. No one was looking back, but if anyone happened to glance over …

Relaxing a little, Mr. Duarte breathed out, loosening his shoulders. "Sev," he said, his voice tight, "Do you really want to be this type of person?"

"What type of person?"

Mr. Duarte bit his lip, his head bowing. "You're making me very uncomfortable."

Sev breathed out through his nose, dropping his own head, and accidentally hitting Mr. Duarte's shoulder with his forehead. He jerked back, and held his hands behind his back. "I didn't mean to do that," he said quickly.

Watching Mr. Duarte, he was about to step forward again, when Mr. Duarte looked over his shoulder at Sev. He looked a little tired, but his eyes were trained on Sev, and Sev found himself shifting back and forth on his feet, pulling at the edge of his sleeve. After a moment, he dropped his gaze, breaking eye contact with Mr. Duarte.

"I'm sorry, Sev."

"What?" Sev yelped, looking back up, "No, I was the one who-"

Mr. Duarte waved at him. "This isn't something that should ever have been put on your shoulders."

Turning his chair around, he clasped his hands together, and smiled wanly at Sev. "Sev," he said, his voice gentle, "There isn't … " Stopping, he let out a harsh sigh, laughing a little, as if he was a loss for words. Finally, he looked down at the ground before he spoke again.

"There isn't a connection between us because of this, Sev," he said, and Sev saw the back of Mr. Duarte's neck start to flush, "I know that a boundary has been broken, but that isn't permanent. We don't need to drag this out."

Sev found himself glaring at the top of Mr. Duarte's head, his lip trembling. "Just because … " he said, the words shaky, " … just because you're a teacher, doesn't mean you can just tell me to go away. You can't just ignore me." Sev was clenching at the front his shirt, his back slightly curved, and all he wanted to do was step closer to Mr. Duarte, to make Mr. Duarte nervous, to do anything that would knock Mr. Duarte off his high horse of maturity.

Looking up, Mr. Duarte stared at him with far more warmth in his eyes than he should have, and then stood up. He walked over to the office door, and closed it, taking a moment before turning around again. "Ok," he said, "Fair enough."

Sev blinked. "What?"

"You're right," Mr. Duarte said, "Since the moment I decided not to report myself … well, better yet, the moment I decided to do … that in the classroom, I lost any right to preach at you." Pausing, he kneaded the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "So, Sev, what do you want? I'm not going to let you spank me, if that's what this is about."

Sev stared at him wide-eyed, and then after a moment of fighting it, snorted, his entire expression falling apart as he grinned. Mr. Duarte had looked so solemn, and so cool for a minute there, but the second he said the word 'spank', Sev immediately just wanted to start giggling.

After pulling himself back together, Sev looked back up at Mr. Duarte, expecting him to be upset, but instead he was surprised to find that Mr. Duarte was smiling at him.

"Pretty silly, right?"

Sev quickly shook his head.

"Well," Mr. Duarte said, cocking his head. "I'm glad you have a sense of humor about it. But if that's not why you keep bothering me, then what do you want from me, Sev? Wouldn't you rather be spending your senior year hanging out with your friends rather than teasing your teacher?"

Glancing over at the art tables, Sev saw Finch and Janey talking to each other with their chairs pointed towards each other, and their fingers intertwined. He frowned, and then looked back at Mr. Duarte. "That's not really the best way to convince me right now, just so you know, Mr. Duarte."

Mr. Duarte's eyebrows rose in confusion, until he looked past Sev's shoulder at Finch and Janey. "Oh, right," he said, "I forgot about that." His upper lip pulled back, tucking under his teeth as as he thought. "Ok," he said after a moment, "Then what can I do?"

"Mr. Duarte," Sev replied, holding his hands up, "I don't want to make you uncomfortable, or anything. I just don't want you to tell me we don't have any kind of connection now."

Their eyes met when Mr. Duarte looked at him.

"You can't take away what I saw," Sev continued, "and I just want you to recognize that."

Sev saw the cords of Mr. Duarte's throat tighten, and he knew he had annoyed him. He opened his mouth to keep talking, but Mr. Duarte held his hand up. "No," he said, whatever friendliness that was there before gone. He brought his finger to his lips for a moment, and then spoke. "It's very invasive for you to ask me for that, because it really has nothing to do with you."

"If you let me spank you, it would have something to do with me," Sev replied, his voice lowering to a growl, which wasn't something he intended to do.

Mr. Duarte actually folded in at that, his chest caving as he breathed out. He slumped back against the door of his office, and held his hand to his forehead. "This is all my fault. I should have resigned immediately."

Without thinking, Sev reached forward to comfort him, but stopped in his tracks when Mr. Duarte looked up at him with rounded eyes. "I'm begging you, Sev," he said, "I don't want to leave this school, so I'm begging. Please just let this whole thing go." His entire body was shaking as he spoke, his eyes red.

Sev's mouth hung open. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "Yeah, of course, of course I'll stop."

Mr. Duarte stared at him with disbelieving eyes for a moment, but finally nodded. He jerked suddenly, scanning the glass partition with a flickering gaze, his skin pale. Sev looked too, and breathed out in relief when he realized everyone was still engrossed in what they were doing.

Lip pulling back in a rueful smile, he looked down at the ground. "I'm sorry," he said again, "I really am just a bratty asshole, aren't I?"

"Whatever you've done is nothing close to how I've failed as a role model," Mr. Duarte breathed in reply. He sounded calmer now.

Sev tried to keep his tone light. "Yeah," he said, "Well … I have a new deal then, I guess."

"And what is that?" Mr. Duarte asked, sounding more than a little apprehensive.

"I get to keep using the couch after school," Sev replied, his mouth spreading into a grin.

''''

Sev stared at the joint in his hand. He had used the last of his weed to roll it, and was vaguely put off at the idea that he would have to drive all the way to the city just to get more. The only thing they dealt in in his hick town was meth, and he was sure as fuck never going to touch that shit.

With a smile, he pulled out his lighter. His mind had been racing too much anyway, and soon enough, his rapid-fire thoughts about Finch and Janey would slow to a halt, and that tightness in his chest would go away.

… and maybe Mr. Duarte would show up to nag him about quitting.

A small smile wound its way across his face at that thought, and he flipped the lid of his lighter. Just as he was about to spin the igniter, his phone beeped. "Who the fuck," he mumbled, his lips pressed against the joint. He reached in his pocket, and looked at the scratched screen of his janky phone.

It was a text from Finch, asking if Sev was really going to be a bitchy dickwad- even when it was friday, and they were supposed to hang out with Janey. Sev snorted, and stuffed the phone back in his pocket, sinking farther down on the couch.

Why would Finch think Sev would want to hang out with the two of them? When Finch and Janey were together, they only had eyes for each other, and Sev was the awkward, usually high, third wheel. Janey would always push away from Finch, and try to include Sev in the conversation by asking him inane questions, or nagging him about going back to the swim team.

God, he hated her.

Closing his eyes, he shook his head, and pressed his thumb against the igniter again, only to pause when he heard the door to the art classroom open. He immediately stuffed the joint and the lighter under the cushion of the couch, and jumped on to his knees, his hands on the back of the couch. He grinned through the window, hoping to scare Mr. Duarte.

It took him a moment to register what he was seeing, and then he quickly ducked down.

"John," Mr. Duarte was saying, his voice strained, "I've got things to grade, I can't really … "

"Oh, come on," Mr. Simmons replied, "That bitch didn't put out, Caleb. I'm suffering blue balls, here."

Sev's mouth dropped open, and he lowered himself even more. Mr. Duarte had his back to the wall by his office, and Mr. Simmons was looming over him, one arm up beside Mr. Duarte's head. Mr. Simmons was leaning in, stroking Mr. Duarte's cheek with his palm.

Mr. Duarte was trying to glance at the window, but Mr. Simmon's palm was keeping his head from moving. Sev ducked behind the couch anyway.

"I can't," Mr. Duarte said, "This is wrong, it's wrong to do it here."

There was a rough laugh. "That's never stopped us before."

"Just wait," Mr. Duarte replied, "Just let me check something … "

Sev heard footsteps coming towards the back of the classroom, and jumped off the couch, his head swivelling around several times until he finally decided to just hide behind the end of the couch not facing the doorway. His heart was thundering when he heard Mr. Duarte step outside, but Mr. Duarte didn't come any closer than that.

"Checking for spies?" came Mr. Simmons voice.

"No," Mr. Duarte replied, and stepped back into the classroom.

Sev crawled around the couch, and then dragged himself up and over the top of the cushions. Counting to three, he peeked his nose over the back of the couch, and then nearly hit his forehead on the glass when he saw what was happening.

Mr. Duarte was on his knees, his mouth wrapped around Mr. Simmons dick. He had one hand circled around the base of the erection, and the other was grasping on to Mr. Simmons ass. Licking and sucking, he slowly worked his way over the erection with deliberate care. Sev felt his stomach turn at the way Mr. Duarte's eyebrows were pinched together, the skin creasing inbetween.

Mr. Duarte was looking up at Mr. Simmons, but Mr. Simmons just had his eyes shut, his head tilted back against the wall.

Gripping the couch tightly, Sev's knuckles went white. He found himself gnashing his teeth, and scowling at Mr. Simmons.

Sev's expression faltered, and his jaw dropped when he saw Mr. Simmons grab Mr. Duarte's hair, and started bucking against Mr. Duarte's mouth with violent thrusts. Mr. Duarte tensed for a moment, choking against the onslaught, before bracing himself. He seemed to regain his composure after a moment, and rode out Mr. Simmons sudden aggressive movements.

He looked like he was used to it.

Shuddering, Mr. Simmons kept Mr. Duarte in place, thrusting one last time. "Swallow it," he said, his voice hoarse.

Sev could see Mr. Duarte's chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes wet. Mr. Duarte's throat rolled, and Sev felt sick.

"Fantastic," Mr. Simmons chuckled, patting Mr. Duarte on the head. "No one else can compare, really."

Mr. Duarte blushed.

He … actually fucking blushed.

"Don't be proud of that, Mr. Duarte," Sev muttered, "He's being a cocky asshole."

Mr. Duarte sat back on his haunches, still looking up at Mr. Simmons. "Should we go home?" he asked.

"Ah, no," Mr. Simmons replied, wiping himself off with a tissue, which he then held out to Mr. Duarte. "That bitch may be playing hard to get, but I think the effort might be worth it."

Mr. Duarte stared at the tissue. "Ok," he said quietly, turning his head.

Smiling, Mr. Simmons shrugged, and tossed the tissue at the waste basket. He missed.

"Don't wait up," he said over his shoulder, the door to the classroom shutting behind with a gentle click.

For several moments, Sev found himself paralyzed as he stared at Mr. Duarte. Mr. Duarte was kneeling there, his shoulders slumped, and he was staring at the tissue on the ground. After a moment, he collapsed forward wrapping his arms around himself as his forehead hit the floor.

Sev was on his feet, but walked slowly, taking in Mr. Duarte's hunched form. When he reached Mr. Duarte, he shifted, wondering if he should cough, or …

Mr. Duarte turned his head, and looked up at Sev. There was a brief flicker of shock, but then his expression went dead. "You saw."

Scratching the back of his head, Sev chuckled nervously. "Yeah, well … I kinda, well I hid when I heard you coming. It's not your fault this time." He gulped, his throat scratchy. "Um," he said, "Ok, well, you shouldn't be doing that here, Mr. Duarte. This is your classroom, and he was … disrespecting you?"

Mr. Duarte actually breathed out with amusement, and closed his eyes. This instilled a little more confidence in Sev. "What I'm saying is, you always seem really … composed, Mr. Duarte-"

"Sev," Mr. Duarte cut in, "I appreciate what you're saying, but Mr. Simmons wasn't disrespecting me, that was something I wanted to do."

"Yeah, but," Sev replied without thinking, "He has you suck him off, and then goes on some date without even reciprocating?"

He was pretty sure that he struck a nerve. Mr. Duarte had hissed, his fingers curling into his palms. Still balled up against the ground, he was shaking slightly at Sev's feet. After a moment, a pained sigh escaped his lips, and he slowly clambered to his feet. "I'm going to hell," he muttered.

Sev blinked. "Wait, what?"

Mr. Duarte ignored him, and stumbled towards an art table. With shaking hands, he undid his belt, and lowered his pants, his purple briefs coming into view. The pants dropped to the ground, and he bent over the table, resting on his palms. "Please," he said, his voice a breathy whine.

"Mr. Duarte … " Sev replied, his eyes going wide. Mr. Duarte didn't look at him.

"Please," he said again, his knees shaking. "Make me cry."

Sev suddenly realized how fucked up the situation was, but then … he suddenly felt a grateful rush hit his veins. This was it. This was his escape from his boring ass life, and his best friend who didn't need him anymore. Sev's teacher was begging him to spank him.

"Yeah, ok," he said gently. He walked over to Mr. Duarte, and placed his hand on Mr. Daurte's back, rubbing it. "Just, like … spank you? With my hand?"

"Jesus," Mr. Duarte breathed, "This isn't going to work." He tried to stand up, but yelped in surprise when Sev's hand pushed him back into position. Sev frowned at Mr. Duarte.

"Did I say you could move?" he asked, with half-lidded eyes.

Mr. Duarte's mouth dropped open, his cheeks flushing. He mumbled something, and a slow smirk spread across Sev's face. Lifting his hand, Sev brought his palm down on Mr. Duarte's ass with a sharp smack, and immediately appreciated the difference between pants and no pants. Still, the briefs were kind of a nuisance.

Sev caught Mr. Duarte's gaze. "Did I say you could move?" he repeated, with a clipped tone.

"No," Mr. Duarte replied, loud enough to hear this time. Sev grinned at this, and reached forward to hook his finger around Mr. Duarte's briefs. Immediately, Mr. Duarte stood up and grabbed his wrist. "No," he said again, only this time it was a command.

Sev felt small for a second, and embarrassed, as if he was a little kid taking too much candy, and had been reprimanded. Mr. Duarte suddenly looked like an adult again, someone with more power than Sev had. This really, really made Sev want to redden his ass. He bit his lip, and scowled at Mr. Duarte.

Mr. Duarte blinked at Sev's expression, but then smiled gently. "That's a line we can't cross, Sev," he said, "I can't be naked."

"Oh," Sev snorted petulantly, "That's the line we can't cross?"

Raising an eyebrow, Mr. Duarte rested his hand on his hip. "I really need you to do this, Sev," he said quietly, "Please just-" he paused, tilting his head, "Do you want to do this or not?"

Sev didn't know if Mr. Duarte was trying to sound childish for Sev's sake or not, but Sev wasn't buying it. He still felt like Mr. Duarte was deigning to let this happen, and didn't really need it. Well, maybe after he was crying and red, he would lose some of that arrogance.

"I do," Sev said, his chin jutting out, "So get back into position."

Nodding, Mr. Duarte bent over the table, his shoulders rigid. Sev didn't give him time to relax.

The first spanking yielded nothing, and the second too. Sev bit his lip, and turned so that he was facing the opposite direction of Mr. Duarte, and wrapped his arm around Mr. Duarte's waist. Bringing his other hand around, he started spanking at a rhythmic speed, his palm biting into the fabric of Mr. Duarte's briefs.

He really wanted to pull them down. He wanted to see Mr. Duarte's skin turn red. But, he kept spanking, and finally he heard whimpers from behind him- soft, tiny cries of distress. His fingers curled into Mr. Duarte's side, and he spanked harder and harder, until Mr. Duarte's body was being shoved forward with each smack.

He would jerk Mr. Duarte back into position every time, only to slap him forward again. Throughout all of this, his lip was curling up in anger. Why couldn't he take Mr. Duarte's underwear off? What kind of fucking rule was that?

"Let me take them off," he snarled after a particularly hard smack. Mr. Duarte hissed behind him.

"No," Mr. Duarte said, his voice steady.

Sev felt a roar building up in his chest, and he hit Mr. Duarte's ass again. "Yes," he said, "You will say yes."

He felt Mr. Duarte buckle and fall to his elbows. "No," he said again, his voice far less steady than before.

Smirking, Sev lit into Mr. Duarte, not even leaving time for him to breath between spanks. Now Mr. Duarte's knees were failing, and Sev had to hold him up. The whimpering had turned into out and out groans of pain, and Sev could hear whispery pleas for mercy. Still, he spanked harder.

After one particularly well-placed, and harsh smack, he felt Mr. Duarte go limp. "Fine," Mr. Duarte cried, "Take them off."

The words were barely out of Mr. Duarte's mouth before Sev had his finger hooked around the briefs, and he was dragging them down. They fell to Mr. Duarte's ankles, but Sev hadn't seen. His eyes were fixed to Mr. Duarte's flushed red ass.

Sev had done that.

He breathed out through his nose. "You've had too long a rest," he said, and then brought his hand down on the naked, red skin. He heard Mr. Duarte yell through clenched teeth, but kept spanking, his own skin stinging as his hand moved from cheek to cheek.

"God," he heard Mr. Duarte whimper, "Please, ok, enough … "

"Hmm," Sev replied, not really agreeing. He spanked Mr. Duarte again. "This is kind of disappointing," he said, "I didn't realize you were a light weight."

He smirked when he saw Mr. Duarte's ass clench. "... Is that so?" Mr. Duarte said through clenched teeth, "Why don't we switch places, and we'll see how long you last."

"Ah, come on, Mr. Duarte," Sev replied, his voice falsely sweet, "Don't be so butthurt."

Chuckling at his own joke for a second, his humor quickly died when he noticed Mr. Duarte wasn't laughing along. He leaned over slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of Mr. Duarte's face. "Um," he said slowly, "get it? Butthurt? Because I just—" His voice trailed off when he realized Mr. Duarte was probably ignoring him, not even acknowledging his stupid joke.

Well, that wouldn't do.

There was a slow curve to Sev's lips, and he swallowed, anticipating what he was going to do next. Tightening his hold around Mr. Duarte's waist, Sev waited a second for Mr. Duarte to realize what he was doing before slapping Mr. Duarte's ass several times in a sudden burst, listening attentively to the sound his palm made smacking against Mr. Duarte's skin.

With each slap, there was a matching grunt of pain. Sev could feel resistance, Mr. Duarte squirming a little bit, making tired attempts at covering his ass with his hand, but Mr. Duarte was getting more sluggish, submitting to the spanking with a defeated breath.

Sev laid in one last, vicious smack. He liked the way Mr. Duarte was just riding it out at that point, waiting for Sev to show him mercy.

Sev looked at Mr. Duarte's red ass, and his trembling body … Mr. Duarte had gone entirely limp, his legs dangling over the table. Slowly unwrapping his arm, Sev took in the entire view; the way Mr. Duarte was covering his face— trying to hide tears, panting, his body slick with sweat. Mr. Duarte looked wrecked.

And because Sev wasn't perfect, he pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, and took a picture.


	3. Chapter 3

Sev's cellphone camera clicked, barely audible over the dull thrum of the art classroom's decrepit air conditioner. Self-satisfied grin melting into an embarrassed grimace, he quickly slid the lock on his phone, and slipped it into his back pocket, fingers lingering on the screen.

"What was that?" Mr. Duarte coughed, his voice raspy. He had propped himself up on his elbows, and was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Glancing over his shoulder at Sev, with raised eyebrows, he waited for an answer. Sev shrugged, the corners of his lips still tugged so far upwards, it hurt.

Sev wanted to tell Mr. Duarte to stay still, because Sev wasn't done staring— not when he could still see his handprints burning across Mr. Duarte's ass.

As if Mr. Duarte had read Sev's mind, and didn't like what he saw there, he quickly pushed himself up, and slid off the art table, his feet hitting the tiled floor with a resolute thud. He stretched his back up, snorting at the popping from his spine, and then with a shake of his head, bent down and grabbed his trousers. He pulled them up, still not acknowledging Sev.

"Won't it hurt to have clothes touching it?" Sev asked, not even bothering to mask the pride in his tone.

There was an immediate hesitation to Mr. Duarte's movements, his fingers hovering at the fly of his pants. Blinking, Sev was certain his saw a small, amused smile on Mr. Duarte's lips, but it flickered away quickly, and Mr. Duarte was looking at him with flat eyebrows. "It's fine," he said, expression oddly calm, "besides, I can't really walk around naked, can I?"

Frowning, Sev tilted his head. "What was that?" he asked.

"Mmm?" was all Mr. Duarte replied with as he resumed adjusting his clothes. Sev found his fingers curling into his palm, which only accentuated the sting still throbbing there. Watching Mr. Duarte push the hem of his shirt into his pants with an arched back, Sev's frown turned into an outright scowl.

"Don't ignore me," he said, "I saw the smile. Why are you laughing at me?"

"Sev," Mr. Duarte replied with a dismissive sigh, "Don't act like a—"

Stopping mid-sentence, Mr. Duarte's mouth folded up into its own embarrassed grin. He let out another, more drawn-out sigh, and looked back up at Sev. "I can tell you the truth, Sev, but you won't like it." Hands reaching up, he ran his fingers through his hair. "But, I wasn't laughing at you, so don't worry about that."

Immediately, Sev's hackles were raised. "Don't try to handle me," he said, "You're not as smart as you think you are, Mr. Duarte."

Mr. Duarte's eyebrows rose. "And what does that mean?"

"Every time you almost call me a kid, or think I'm gonna overreact, you pull this … " Sev said, his tone biting. He licked his lips. " … You do this thing where you want me to think you're treating me like an adult, but really you're just getting rid of the situation." Breathing out, he inwardly cursed at how badly he expressed himself.

Mr. Duarte was looking at him with a bemused expression, as if he was a little taken aback. "I guess I'm really not as smart as I think I am," he said, smiling a bit.

"I didn't mean," Sev began to say earnestly, and then stopped. He let out a rough laugh. "You just did it again!" Crossing his arms, he grinned with disbelief. "Stop trying to … to … "

"Placate you?" Mr. Duarte replied with a cocked eyebrow.

Nodding, Sev frowned. "Yeah, placate me." Breathing out, he realized that Mr. Duarte had once again diffused Sev's anger. "Fine," Sev said finally, with a shrug.

Mr. Duarte snorted with a friendly shake of his head, reached out to ruffle Sev's hair. Just as his fingertips were about to touch Sev, he pulled back as if Sev was on fire, and instead brought his hand to his throat. "Well," he said, "Well … " Coughing, he leaned back against the desk.

"Hey," Sev said, moving forward slightly, "Doesn't it hurt to sit?"

Again, there was that small, amused smile— and again it disappeared. Sev met Mr. Duarte's eyes, and this time he braced himself. He wasn't going to back down, no matter how Mr. Duarte manipulated him. "Why were you smiling?"

"Is it bad to smile?" Mr. Duarte replied.

"No," Sev shot back quickly, "But … but, you weren't just smiling. You were laughing at me."

Mr. Duarte opened his mouth to speak, but Sev held his hand up. "I know you weren't laughing, what I mean is you were … were … "

"Mocking you?" Mr. Duarte replied.

Sev narrowed his eyes. "You're awfully rude for someone who was just begging me not to spank them anymore."

This finally earned Sev a faint blush, and he grinned when Mr. Duarte averted his eyes to the ground. Folding his arms over his chest, barely hiding trembling fingers, Mr. Duarte still wouldn't meet Sev's gaze as he next spoke, "You're being awfully rude for— "

"What?" Sev replied, "a student? Someone younger than you?"

"Sev, you should really watch that tone—"

"I mean," Sev cut over Mr. Duarte, "I'm more than willing to bend you over again, if we really need to drive the point home." Leaning forward, so that he was in Mr. Duarte's face, he grinned, "Don't test me, Caleb."

There was a flash in Mr. Duarte's eyes, and Sev blanched when he suddenly felt a hand curl around the back of his neck, and shove him forward. He hissed when his front hit the edge of the table, and he found himself pushed down on the surface, his arm held tightly against his back. "You arrogant little prick," Mr. Duarte breathed from over him.

Ok, so Mr. Duarte was a little stronger than he looked in those pastel sweater vests. Sev growled, his free hand curling against the wood surface of the table. He didn't like it, he didn't like it at all. "You're gonna get it," he snarled, "You're not gonna be able to sit for a week."

He heard laughter from above him. "Is that so?" Mr. Duarte said. There was a pause, and then: "Sev, I really was trying to be nice. I know how fragile teenagers' egos can be."

"What does that mean?" Sev replied with a low voice.

"You think that I, someone who has been inexplicably drawn to having his ass spanked raw by men since he was a teenager, would be satisfied or even really bothered by a few weak swats from a slacker half-stoned out of his mind like you?"

Throat running dry, Sev swallowed roughly. He could feel embarrassment and rage burning at the back of his eyeballs, and he jerked his arm, grunting when Mr. Duarte's hold remained firm. "You were crying," Sev breathed, "You're such a shitty liar— I don't believe it. You were totally falling apart."

There was a light snort. "Yeah," Mr. Duarte replied, "Well, I'm not too proud to admit having a student spanking me was embarrassing and mortifying and everything in between. So, yes, I was crying."

Sev bit his lip. "Did it even hurt?" he asked, hoping his insecure tone was muffled by the table.

He felt a gentle hand brush through his hair. "Yes," Mr. Duarte said, "Of course it did. I'm not immune to pain, I still feel someone slapping my ass."

After a moment of silence, Mr. Duarte's grip disappeared from his arm, and Sev rolled up into a sitting position, his legs dangling over the edge of the table. He looked down at his lap, rubbing the back of his head. "No fair," he muttered. "Why are you so strong?"

" … I knew you wouldn't like that," Mr. Duarte replied with an amused breath. Sev looked up at Mr. Duarte, and found him staring back, lips turned upwards in an understanding smile. "Well?" Mr. Duarte said, "What can you expect, Sev? You spend all your time lazing around on that couch smoking weed."

Sev nodded, "Still … "

Maybe Mr. Duarte needed that, to at least be stronger than the men who spanked him, Sev thought, but then an image of Mr. Simmons' built, muscular form flashed in his mind, and he scowled again. Mr. Duarte blinked at the rapid change in expressions. "What?" he asked.

"Has Mr. Simmons ever done this for you?" Sev asked.

Mr. Duarte's face immediately closed off. "We're not going to talk about Mr. Simmons, Sev."

"Cause I could," Sev said quickly, "I'll keep doing it!" He was leaning forward, his hands grasping the edge of the table. He smirked at the hesitation in Mr. Duarte's face. "You want to say yes, don't you?" There was a flicker, Mr. Duarte's gaze jumping away from Sev's for a moment, "Imagine having someone here to spank you everyday after school."

Mr. Duarte actually laughed with surprise. "You sound so earnest," he said, "Like you just want to help me cross the street or something."

That didn't really come off like a compliment, but Sev didn't dwell. "Ok," he said, "Fine, I'm a boy scout, then. Eager to please." Jumping off the table, he took a step towards Mr. Duarte, and felt a twinge of triumph when Mr. Duarte didn't back away. "Are there merit badges for every shade of red I can make your ass?"

Mr. Duarte stared at him with wide eyes, and then groaned. "Sev … " he said, his voice laced with amusement. Dropping his head, he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his pointer finger, his shoulders quaking from restrained laughter.

Staring at him, Sev let out a light breath. "You're not going to say yes, are you?"

"Sev … " Mr. Duarte repeated, glancing back up.

"No, that's fine," Sev said, holding his hands up. He started to step towards the door of the classroom, "That's totally fine. I understand. I don't want you to think you have to say yes or—"

"Sev," Mr. Duarte cut in, frowning, "wait … "

"—and I get that it's stressful having a student know about this, and I definitely promise not to make trouble for you, Mr. Duarte" Sev continued, talking over Mr. Duarte's interruption. His words were picking up speed and incoherence, stumbling all over themselves as he half-sprinted for the door ... he didn't want Mr. Duarte to see his crumpled, rejected expression. He put his hand on the doorknob. "I would really like it if you didn't let Mr. Simmons treat you like that."

He didn't wait for a response, he just quickly fled the classroom.

''''

Crouching down on the pavement, one arm draped over his head to block the sun, Sev brought a cigarette to his lips, breathed to his lungs, and then tilted his head back to release the smoke. He felt a drop of sweat line down his forehead, and scratched at it with grubby fingernails.

"You're really gonna smoke during class?"

He took another drag from the cigarette. "Yeah?"

Plopping down beside Sev, Darren Smith, a member of the swim team, sighed and bent down with his head in his lap. "They should just have P.E. be swimming until it's not so fucking hot."

Sev snorted, fingering the sleeve of his P.E. clothes. "Or not make us wear this shit."

They both watched the rest of the class mill around on the designated spot for class— which of course was in the middle of the school's blacktop, with no shade in sight. Everyone was groaning and complaining, and wiping at sweat. A few yards away, the sun glinted off the cars in the school parking lot, and beyond that was beautiful freedom. Quelling the urge to just hoof it to the school's exit ditch this inferno, Sev brought the cigarette back to his mouth, and let it dangle from his lips as he fell backwards. He rested back on the palms of his hands, his legs stretched outwards.

"What do we even need P.E. for?" he said with pursed lips, cigarette wobbling, "They should just fire Mr. Simmons."

Darren snorted, and turned to look at Sev. After a pause, he whistled. "You're serious? What's wrong with Mr. Simmons?"

"Nothing," Sev quickly muttered. Maybe just the way that asshole was fucking Mr. Duarte's mouth without even looking at him was all.

Sev let out an involuntary growl, and masked it with a cough. Grabbing the cigarette from his mouth, he flicked it a few yards away, and held up his middle finger when several girls threw him dirty looks.

"You could have at least thrown it away from the class," Darren said with a sigh.

"Not planning to be 'Most Charming' in the yearbook," Sev grunted.

Darren laughed. "I don't think you were ever in danger of that."

Shrugging, Sev licked his lips. He scratched his stomach, and glanced over at the gym. "That asshole takes forever to get out here." When there wasn't a response, he looked back over at Darren, and found him staring at Sev with raised eyebrows. " … What?" Sev snapped.

"What's up, man?" Darren replied, "Is this about the swim team?"

Sev frowned. "What about the swim team?"

"Well … " Darren said slowly, nodding his head back and forth. "Ok, so, he kind of asked us to try and convince you to come back."

Twitching at a sudden flash of annoyance, Sev looked down at his chest, but before he could respond to Darren, he noticed the class was starting to quiet, which meant that Mr. Simmons was walking over from the gym. He glanced around again, and scowled. "I bet he takes steroids," he said. Mr. Simmons' perfect v-shape torso was an eyesore.

"Jesus," Darren laughed, "Are you PMSing?"

Sev ignored him, and continued to glare even as Mr. Simmons reached the class. "Hey guys," Mr. Simmons said, grinning in his light blue polo shirt, with a whistle lying against his chest, and crisp khaki shorts— the exact kind of thing that douchcanoe would be wearing, Sev thought to himself, "Why aren't you stretching yet?"

There were some groans as everyone shuffled to their spots and started do the pre-class stretches. Mr. Simmons shook his head with a laugh, and then noticed Sev still lazing on the outskirts of the class. "Sev?" he said, nodding his head towards Sev's spot, "Maybe time to get your ass moving?"

What did Mr. Duarte see in this bastard? Sev couldn't imagine that Mr. Duarte was so shallow that he would suck Mr. Simmons' cock simply because Mr. Simmons was built. And they were roommates? Or boyfriends? Which was it? Mr. Simmons went on dates with women, wanted sex with them … so was he bi or straight? Either way, he was still an asshole. And he was still staring at Sev with his asshole face. "Sev?"

"Fine," Sev said, getting to his feet. He languidly made his way to his spot, and half-assedly stretched his arm across his front. Mr. Simmons looked at him with a small frown.

"So," Mr. Simmons said, tapping on his clipboard, "We're continuing with tennis today." There were more groans. "I know, I know, the courts are hot, but I told you guys to bring sunscreen and water, so quit whining."

He sauntered down a row of students. "Ok, push-ups."

Flopping to his stomach, Sev rested his chin on his arms, and watched the rest of the class struggle through the push-ups. Last year, while he was still on the team, he did 100 push-ups every morning just as routine. He wondered how many he could do right now, in his current shape.

… How many it would take until he was much, much stronger than Mr. Duarte.

He got to his hands, and quickly started pumping up and down.

'''''

"This wasn't a competition."

Darren laughed. "That's exactly what this was," he said, "a tennis competition."

"I told you not to pair up with me," Sev replied, pressing his fingers through the notches of his tennis racquet.

Sighing with exasperation, Darren sat back against the chain link fence, and crossed his arms. "We could have been one of the final two teams."

"It's P.E.," Sev replied, "Not fucking Wimbledon."

"Come on," Darren said, "Where's your competitive spirit?"

They both shut up and ignored each other, watching the four students who had decided to give a damn go at each other in the remaining minutes of class. Mr. Simmons was standing at the side of the court, clipboard in hand, and yelling out the countdown until everyone had to break and go change for next period.

Lip curling upwards, Sev brought his knee up, and rested his wrist on it. "I'm competitive," he said, staring at Mr. Simmons.

"Yeah, with Janey."

"Yeah … " Sev replied, and then jerked his head around to look at Darren. "What?"

"Everyone can tell that you're broken up about your epic bromance coming to an end."

Sev stared at him, jaw tightening. "It's not like that." It wasn't like that, not at all. Sure, he may be rude to Janey sometimes, but he was rude to everyone. Finch knew that. Finch knew that Sev … shit, did Finch think that Sev was trying to compete with Janey? Has Sev been trying to compete with Janey?

"Ok," Darren said, "but I don't believe you."

Sev's hand tightened around the handle of his racquet, his knuckles going white. Glancing down at the racquet, at the crisscrossing of the plastic stitching, he wondered if it would leave a nice, bright-red crosshatch pattern on pale skin— if, by chance, someone was spanked by a tennis racquet.

"I don't give a fuck about Janey," he breathed, rubbing his hand on the net of the racquet.

''''

He didn't even bother with waiting on the couch this time. Besides, if Mr. Simmons showed up with Mr. Duarte, Sev didn't want to sit through a repeat blowjob performance. He leaned against an art table, and crossed his arms, watching the clock with a flat expression.

Finally, the door of the classroom slid open, and Mr. Duarte stepped inside, his arms full with a giant box of paint bottles. He didn't notice Sev, and walked over to his office, setting the paint down on his desk. Sev watched him through the glass partition.

Sifting through the bottles, Mr. Duarte's face was set in a distracted frown as he marked off a piece of paper with each bottle. He would look at the label on the bottle, mouthing the words as he read, and then scan the paper with a furrowed brow. When he got to the last bottle, he stared at the paper for a moment, looking confused, and then pulled out his cell phone.

He walked back out to the classroom, phone to ear. "Yes," he was saying, "Well, I ordered twice as many then what showed up—" Pausing, he froze when he finally noticed Sev sitting there. Then he blinked, and bowed his head. "—Ah, yes, sorry, what I was saying was that I need all the paint soon, I can't wait another two weeks. ...Yes. Ok, thanks."

Clicking the phone off, he slipped it into his pocket, and looked back up at Sev. "Hey," he said with a nod of his head.

Sev grinned, unable to control a sudden burst of happiness at that small 'hey'— the 'hey' of a friend, or someone who you shared a secret with, or someone you trusted, but definitely not just the 'hey' of a teacher talking to his student. It was a good 'hey'.

… And, of course, Mr. Duarte could immediately tell what Sev was thinking. Expression stiffening, he turned his head to the side. "Did you need something, Sev?" he asked in his teacher-voice.

Sev chuckled. "Don't try so hard, Mr. Duarte."

Biting his lip, Mr. Duarte ran his hand through his hair. After a pause, he sighed and walked over to Sev, leaning against the table too. He crossed his arms, and they stayed like that for a moment, with just the sound of the air conditioner between them. "You left before we could finish talking," he said finally.

"Sorry," Sev replied, "I was … " He really didn't want to say 'embarrassed' out loud.

"Listen, Sev," Mr. Duarte said, "I've calmed down some, and I probably should have put more stock in the fact that you're eighteen."

Sev quickly looked over at him, eyes wide.

"No," Mr. Duarte said with a laugh, "I mean, you're still a student, but you are an adult." Glancing at Sev from the corner of his eye, he grinned. "So, from one adult to another, can we please move past this, and try to have a good year?"

Sev smiled in return for a moment, but then as several ticks of silence went by, his expression slowly hardened. This comfortable air, the way that Mr. Duarte was talking to him— as if they were equals, it was all the same again. Mr. Duarte was trying to manipulate him. Sev let out a harsh laugh. "You suck, Mr. Duarte," he said with a shake of his head.

He pushed away from the table, and turned so that he was standing in front of Mr. Duarte, his arms crossed. "You asked me, your student, to spank you, and then think I'll just let it go? What kind of teacher are you?"

Staring back, Mr. Duarte paled somewhat. His lips parted as if he was about to protest, but Sev held up his hand to cut Mr. Duarte off. .

"You're a bad influence, Mr. Duarte," Sev said, "Just thinking about all the students you might be victimising, it makes me sick."

"Sev!" Mr. Duarte said, his voice high.

Smiling, Sev cocked his head, and clasped his hands behind his back. "Someone needs to keep you in check, Mr. Duarte," he said.

Finally catching on, Mr. Duarte's eyes widened and a faint blush tinged his cheeks. He moved away from the table as well, slipping past Sev and putting some distance between the two of them. "You're unbelievable," he breathed, his voice barely audibly. His shoulders were slumped, and he was resting his forehead in his hand.

Sev let out a sharp 'tsk', and strode towards Mr. Duarte, grabbing his shoulder, and roughly jerking him around. "You're unbelievable," he hissed when he made eye contact with Mr. Duarte's surprised gaze, "You knew better, you're supposed to be a teacher— but you're in here sucking off Mr. Simmons and spanking yourself, so you definitely have no fucking right to lecture me!"

After a beat of tense silence, with Mr. Duarte staring at Sev with a slack jaw, Mr. Duarte finally crumpled, his entire demeanor deflating.

"Yeah," Sev said, his voice losing a little of its forcefulness. He backed away from Mr. Duarte, and slid his hand on the art table, where his tennis racquet was. "So, I figured you should be punished for that."

Mr. Duarte stared at the tennis racquet, and to Sev's surprise, let out a small chuckle. "You can't be serious, Sev," Mr. Duarte said, nodding towards the racquet.

"What?" Sev replied, looking down at it. "You said my hand wasn't enough."

"You could seriously hurt me with that," Mr. Duarte replied, "It's too heavy, and you've never spanked anyone with an implement before. What do you think the plastic rim would do?"

Sev looked down at the racquet again. It did feel a bit heavy in his hand. "I could practice … " he said slowly.

Sighing, Mr. Duarte stepped towards him, and slid his hand around the racquet, pulling it from Sev's grasp. He set it down on the table, and then crossed his arms, appearing lost in thought. After a moment, he sighed again. "Ok, listen," he said, "If you must know the truth, then … this situation with you really has woken me up. I've found someone to … help me, someone who knows what he's doing. So nothing will be happening in this classroom ever again."

Mr. Duarte had found someone else? Sev felt his stomach clench, and suddenly his breathing was a little rough. He looked at Mr. Duarte, and glared. "That's not fair at all," Sev said, "I'm new at this, so you have to give me time to learn!"

"Have to?" Mr. Duarte replied, "I certainly don't have to do anything."

His expression was set in small, confident smile as he looked at Sev, and finally Sev realized it— Mr. Duarte was no meek art nerd, not at all. He was arrogant, and thought he had Sev wrapped around his little finger. The whole thing was a fucking act. Sev grinned a rueful smile, and slipped his hand into his pocket, touching his cellphone. "You shouldn't be so stubborn, Mr. Duarte," Sev said, "Not when I own you."

Mr. Duarte snorted, cocking an eyebrow. "Please, Sev," he said, "Don't be dramatic.'

Clenching his jaw, Sev whipped out his cellphone, and slid the lock on his screen. He grinned. "Check out my background, Mr. Duarte," he said, "I've been looking at it all day." Holding out the phone, his fingers tightened around the edges as Mr. Duarte stared at it. There was a brief delay, and then Mr. Duarte went completely white.

"Are you fucking serious?" Mr. Duarte breathed, and then clapped his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide.

Sev's lips were curled, his eyes narrowed with delight. "Language, Mr. Duarte."

Mr. Duarte looked at him. "You're blackmailing me?" he said, his voice rising an octave, "Sev, are you really doing this? Why are you doing this?"

"Shhh," Sev replied lightly, reaching forward to pet Mr. Duarte's head. He placed his other hand against Mr. Duarte's chest, and pushed him against the table. "Calm down," he said, "It's for your own good, Mr. Duarte. You're too arrogant." Feeling Mr. Duarte trembling, Sev fought off grinning even more, and slowly rubbed Mr. Duarte's chest. "There, there .. " he said, his voice only slightly mocking.

"We just need to break this attitude of yours," Sev said, meeting Mr. Duarte's panicked eyes.

Reaching up, Mr. Duarte grabbed Sev's shoulders, as if he was holding onto a lifeboat. "Sev," he breathed, "I told you, I found someone, ok? Please, don't make me do this with you. I don't want to get in trouble; I don't want to get caught doing this with a student. This kind of stuff gets put in newspapers!"

Sev frowned at Mr. Duarte's pathetic bleating. "You should have thought of that earlier," he said.

Mr. Duarte stared at him, expression hardening somewhat. "I know it, but Sev … I also know you're better than this, no matter what you think of me."

Well … he hated this. It was fun to tease, sure, but what wasn't fun was how unhappy Mr. Duarte looked. When Sev imagined saying things like 'breaking your attitude' or 'you're too arrogant', it didn't involve Mr. Duarte looking like he had just received a death sentence.

Sev bit his lip. "I wish you were a more upstanding guy, Mr. Duarte," he said, "It would make it less easy to do stuff like this."

"You can't blame me for your actions," Mr. Duarte hissed, a slight charge of anger flashing in his eyes.

Smiling again, Sev shrugged with a tired sigh. He put his cell phone back in his pocket, and then wrapped his hands around Mr. Duarte's arms, moving them away from his shoulders. "Fine," he said, "Go to your guy." Tightening his grip, he looked up to make eye contact with Mr. Duarte. "But," he said, his voice flat, "I have a condition."

Mr. Duarte blinked. "Condition?"

"Yep," Sev replied, "Every time you see him, you have to come to me the next day, and report on everything that happened."

Mr. Duarte looked like he might explode from annoyance. " … What?"

"I need to make sure you're being disciplined enough," Sev said, "So every stroke, every lick, every smack— you have to tell me about it." Leaning forward with a mischievous smirk, he crowded Mr. Duarte against the desk.

"Cause," Sev said, his voice thick with self-satisfaction, "how else am I gonna learn what you like?"


	4. Chapter 4

Sev jumped in time with the music throbbing from his speakers, rocking his head while mouthing the words of the song. The harsh rhythm of the drums pounded into his chest, the guitar carrying him away from the mess of his life.

Taking another chug from the can of Natty Ice his older sister had oh-so-generously left in his sock drawer, he grinned, a drop of beer lining down from the corner of his lip, and sliding to the base of his throat. With a loud 'whoop!', he started jumping even harder, scrunching his eyes shut and shouting the lyrics.

He imagined himself at the band's concert, pumping his fist in the air. Finch would be there too, shouting along with him.

Smiling at the thought, he stumbled when the song came to an end, and opened his eyes. He was met with his reflection in his closet mirror— in this heat, of course he was shirtless, his jeans sagging while his boxers clung tightly to his hips. Admiring how taut his stomach was, he slid his hand up his chest. There was a flicker of dissatisfaction at the circumference of his biceps, but that was something he could work on.

He glanced at the pile of weights in the corner of his room, and smirked. Oh, Mr. Duarte … you'd better watch out.

"Hey, brat, what did I tell you about drinking the beer in the house?"

Sev looked at the mirror, and saw his sister leaning against his doorway. "Mom and dad aren't home, Rachel," he said.

Smacking her gum, she grinned, and tucked her sleek hair behind her ear. "I do my baby bro the favor of buying him beer, and he still has the nerve to be a fucking dickwad?"

"Fuck off," he muttered, chugging the rest of the beer, and then crunching the can in his grip. After a pause, he looked over his shoulder at her. "What did you want?"

Her grin had loosened somewhat into an easy smile, and she shrugged. "Mom's worried about you," she said, "about Finch and the swim team."

"Bye, Rachel."

"Listen, asshole, mom shouldn't have to stress about—"

"Bye," Sev cut in, "Thanks for shutting the door behind you."

Not missing a beat, Rachel snorted. "I'm surprised it took this long for Finch to ditch you."

With that, she slammed Sev's door shut, and he could hear her stomp down the hallway to her room. It wasn't until he heard her own door close with a bang that he realized he was clenching his teeth too tightly, his jaw aching. What a bitch. What a fucking bitch.

He lobbed the beer can at the door, and then plopped onto his shitty desk chair, his hands resting on his legs. After a moment, he breathed out, and opened his laptop, glaring at the start up screen— waiting for the thing to load. It was so fucking slow. Why did everything in his life have to suck balls?

Snarling, he was caught off-guard when his phone erupted in a fit of vibrations, buzzing towards his hand. He grabbed it, looked at the name on the screen, and kind of felt his stomach drop a little. He slid the lock, and brought it to his ear. "Yeah?"

"Hey, man."

" ... Hey."

Sev hadn't spoken to Finch yet since they fought in the art classroom, and of course he avoided any further confrontation. … Also, of course, it was Finch who made the first move. He was mature like that. And now Sev felt like a dick.

"I was listening to— " he launched in, not being able to stand the silence.

"Listen, Sev," Finch cut over him, his voice flat, "I really need you to apologize to Janey. For everything."

Ah, no. Hell. No.

"Yeah, sure," Sev laughed, and then rubbed the bridge of his nose with his knuckles.

"She doesn't deserve the way you treat her."

"No, yeah, totally," Sev said, his voice getting higher, "I'm too much for her."

"You're too much for me."

Sev felt a buzzing in his head, and he seriously wanted to throw up or die or something. Curl up into a ball? Stab his eye? Something. "What's with that?" he breathed, his forehead hitting the flat of his desk.

There was silence, and Sev wondered if they had entered the 'man box' of no-talking-about-feelings, or whatever it was his psychology teacher was talking about during that stupid gender segment. "Finch?"

"Just apologize." and then click.

Sev carefully set his phone down. He didn't have the money to buy a new one, so smashing it a million times over was not an option. Swallowing, he stared at the screen, at the picture Mr. Duarte. Mr. Duarte, who said that Sev wasn't enough to satisfy him. What a sick, arrogant fucker … it was a good thing he liked being spanked, because he deserved the hell out of it.

… Sev should probably change the background ... should definitely change the background— at some point.

Switching his attention to his computer, he pulled up the browser, and stared at the search bar. He licked his lips, and then tapped on the keyboard: 'facebook caleb duarte'. There was a flicker of annoyance at the loading time, and then the search results popped up. Mr. Duarte's was the first hit. Sev clicked.

Snorting, he shook his head. Of course Mr. Duarte had his page set to friends only. Sev's eyes moved to the friends list, and saw Mr. Simmons there.

Huh, well. Sev looked at his phone again.

What could it hurt, if he made Mr. Duarte add him as a friend?

Nothing, that wasn't hurting anyone.

Slowly, his lips curled up into a smile.

''''

"Mr. Duarte … "

Sev spoke in the most sing-songy voice he could manage, pushing off the wall when he finally caught Mr. Duarte walking down the hallway.

When the bell had rung for lunch earlier, Sev was the first one out of his classroom, shoving past all of his peers without bothering to apologize as he sprinted through the school. He was huffing by the time he reached the door of the art classroom, but thankfully he had had time to compose himself before Mr. Duarte finally walked out.

Now, Mr. Duarte was staring at him, barely contained annoyance bubbling behind his teacherly facade. He tried to step past Sev, but Sev jumped in front of him. "You ignored me during class today," Sev said, "I was so lonely."

"Oh, fuck off, you little cunt," Mr. Duarte hissed back, and Sev's eyebrows rose at the cursing, but then he laughed. He liked it.

"You're such a faker," he breathed, truly in awe. "Do you call all of us cunts when we're not around?"

Mr. Duarte smiled coldly at him. "Nope," he said, his jaw stiff, "That's reserved just for you, my favorite student."

With that, he shoved past Sev, and strode away with a quick gait. Sev shook his head, and jogged to keep up. "Hey," he said, folding his hands behind his back, "When you were asking me to quit smoking before, were you just doing that so I wouldn't keep using the art room couch?"

There was a certain tilt to Mr. Duarte's eyebrow, and Sev grinned. "Oh my god," he said, "So selfish … " He was practically giggling at this point. "That was all so you could keep doing perverted shit! Aw, Mr. Duarte, was I being a cockblock?"

"Jesus," Mr. Duarte replied, glancing at Sev with wide eyes. "Would you keep it down?" Taking another glance up and down the empty hallway, Mr. Duarte leaned in towards Sev, and spoke with a low voice. "Listen to me," he said, "You are … " Pausing, his fingers curled into his palms. After a second, he pulled himself back, and shook his head.

"I'm what?" Sev replied.

Mr. Duarte shook his head again, his eyes held shut. Swinging around, he continued down the hallway.

"I'm what?" Sev repeated, keeping pace with him. "An asshole? A douche? What? Is it worse than what you are?"

"Worse than what I am … " Mr. Duarte sputtered, his eyes going wide. "Oh, Sev." Slowing down, he came to a complete stop, and then looked at Sev. "Get out of my life," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Get out of my fucking life."

Sev's lip curled up into a rueful smile. "No can do."

There was a shift in Mr. Duarte's eyes, a sort of slide into a different setting, as if he was changing the channel. His expression smoothed out, and he seemed to shrink. "I'm sorry," he said, "I really, really am. People make mistakes, right Sev? I made a huge mistake. It's embarrassing to admit— but I am, and I know this is all my fault. Please, Sev."

Crossing his arms, Sev cocked his head. "That was good," he said, "but you could do better. Maybe get some tears going, or whine a little bit, you know? Something cute?"

Mr. Duarte stared at him, expression unreadable. "Something cute?"

"Yeah," Sev replied, "Like pout, you know?"

Mouthing the word 'pout', Mr. Duarte continued to stare at Sev, his eyebrows rising. He looked a little surprised, but then he narrowed his eyes, his gaze flickering back and forth. Sev watched this with growing apprehension. Finally, Mr. Duarte made eye contact again. "I didn't realize," he said, a small smile slowly forming on his lips.

"Didn't realize what?" Sev replied.

Mr. Duarte shook his head, and then reached forward to ruffle Sev's hair. "Why are you wasting all this misdirected effort on me?" he asked, sounding genuinely amused.

With a final gentle shove at Sev's head, he turned and started off down the hallway again. Sev was too stunned for a moment, but then he quickly made up the ground between them. "Hey," he said, "What did that mean?"

Mr. Duarte was ignoring him, and by that time they had reached the teacher lounge. He stopped at the door, his hand resting on the knob, and turned to look at Sev. His face was oddly calm— and relieved. "Don't forget, Sev, you have an art project due next week," he said, his eyes warm. Sev blinked.

"Wait, what?"

Not even bothering to respond, Mr. Duarte strode into the teacher's lounge, shutting the door in Sev's face and leaving him completely alone.

Sev stared at the door, and thought about Finch hanging up on him.

'''''

"Mr. Duarte, I need to ask you about something. Right now."

Sev wish he could have a picture of Mr. Duarte's face at that moment— the moment Sev had walked up to his table in the teacher's lounge, and leaned over him with a wicked grin.

"Really," Mr. Simmons said from beside Mr. Duarte, his chin resting on his folded hands, "Big art crisis?"

His tone was light, and hardly mocking, but Sev glared at him anyway, which did not go unnoticed. Mr. Simmons cocked an eyebrow at Sev, his chiseled face lighting up in a grin. "Ah, are you mad about me siccing the swim team on you, Sev? I really did it out of the goodness of my heart."

Chuckling, he turned his head to Mr. Duarte. "This kid, you know? He's really fast. He was breaking records as a freshman."

Mr. Duarte had a constipated look on his face, his shoulders stiff. He refused to look at Sev.

"Hey," Sev said, looking at him, leaning over so that he had to look at Sev, "Come on, let's go."

"Uhhh … " came Mr. Simmons' slightly confused voice, "What, um— "

"Can you get me a coffee?" Mr. Duarte cut in, seemingly coming to life. Mr. Simmons stared at him for a moment, and then up at Sev. After a second, he shrugged and pushed himself up from his seat. As soon as he was out of hearing distance, Mr. Duarte turned the full fury of his gaze towards Sev.

"This isn't even about me," he hissed, "So leave me the fuck out of it."

Sev blinked at him. "It's entirely about you … and what a shitty person you are."

"No," Mr. Duarte replied, the space between his eyebrows creasing, "It's— "

"Mr. Duarte," Sev said, leaning in slightly. He lifted his hand and waved it front of Mr. Duarte. "I'm either going to put this on the edge of your shoulder … or at the back of your neck." Grinning, he kept his voice low, "It's funny how touching places on the body so close to each other can mean different things."

Paling, Mr. Duarte glanced over at Mr. Simmons.

"Exactly," Sev said, "He's watching us right now. He's already suspicious. You don't want to make it worse."

"Just— " Mr. Duarte replied sharply. "Just give me a minute. Don't make me leave with you. I'll meet you at the couch."

Smiling, Sev shrugged and leaned up. "Awesome," he said, patting Mr. Duarte on the shoulder, "Can't wait."

''''

Sev sat low on the couch, and briefly considered pulling out the weed and lighter still stashed under the cushions, but quickly vetoed that idea. He wanted to be firing on all cylinders when he spoke with Mr. Duarte, it would be amateur hour to handicap himself by getting high.

Hearing the door to the art classroom open, he looked over. Mr. Duarte walked up to him, every step appearing to be a work of great effort. "I can't believe you outright threatened me like that," Mr. Duarte said, crossing his arms and looking down at Sev.

"Sorry?" Sev replied with a grin. "People make mistake, right? Isn't that what you said?"

Mr. Duarte stared at him for a moment, and then sighed, his demeanor relaxing somewhat. Turning, he sat down on the couch next to Sev, but was still a little stiff as he leaned back against the cushions. Playing with the sleeve of his shirt, he let out a small cough before looking over at Sev. "Wouldn't the right thing to do be deleting that picture, and not blackmailing me?"

"No," Sev replied, "The right thing to do would be for you to admit to the administration what you've been doing, and get fired for it."

"Yeah, maybe," Mr. Duarte said, bending forward, and resting his elbows on his knees. Sev stared at his back, the outline of his shoulders, and the way his body moved with each breath— ribcage expanding and receding at a slow pace. Mr. Duarte looked over his shoulder slightly, so that Sev could only see the corner of his eye. "You gonna make me do that, Sev?"

"I already said no," Sev replied, "I told you what you have to do."

"What would Finch say about this, Sev?"

Sev blinked, opened his mouth … closed it, opened it again, and then looked at his stomach. "Finch wouldn't … he'd … "

"He'd think it's crazy, right? He'd ask why the hell you're doing this?"

There was this little burn, this constricting, angry, helpless feeling in Sev's chest, and he realized it was stubbornness. He didn't want to understand what Mr. Duarte meant, but he did understand. Finch, who played video games on the weekend and worked diligently at his father's roadside vegetable stand and basically led a fucking normal life, would think Sev had lost his mind. Because, who does this?

"It must be hard enough, Sev, keeping your friendship together, with Janey there."

"She's a bitch," Sev muttered, sinking even lower on the couch.

There was a light chuckle. "Janey's a smart girl, and she's very nice. I see why Finch would like her." Mr. Duarte's voice had turned smooth, leading, "I could see them being together for a long time. I know how that must feel, I really do. When your best friend gets a girlfriend for the first time, and you realize that there's a totem pole in his life, you just happen to be lower than the girl."

Sev's expression was tightening, his hands balling into fists. "Yeah … " he said, his voice cracking a little bit.

"Especially since he's been your friend for so long, right? You two grew up together? And now he's found someone more important. I can see why you would want to focus on something else besides what's happening with your friendship, but you're just avoiding the problem. You have to acknowledge that Finch doesn't want you around."

Feeling paralyzed, Sev closed his eyes, his stomach twisting with each word out of Mr. Duarte's mouth. They each had a gentle sting to them, barbed with venom. Sounding so reasonable, so adult-like, but really just tearing Sev down bit by bit. "Stop it … " he breathed, covering his face with his hand.

He could hear the cold smile in Mr. Duarte's voice. "Do you ever wonder what Finch thinks of you, Sev? What he must think about you quitting the swim team, and smoking pot at school, basically flushing anything positive down the drain, just because he got a girlfriend? Is that something he would respect?"

Hot tear pricked at Sev's eyes, and he clenched his teeth. His chest was tight, and it was hard to breath. "God," he gasped, his voice high, "You're such a fucking dick … "

"Do you think Finch needs this?" Mr. Duarte continued, "A friend who completely falls apart? Someone so selfish? Dead weight?"

Sev bent forward, his head between his knees, and his shoulders shaking. He couldn't understand why Mr. Duarte was saying these things to him, or while it felt like a nail was being hammered into his skull. He curled his fingers, covering his ears, his entire body shuddering. He could feel his face strain from trying to hold back tears, headache pulsing through his brain as his face went red, and he choked. Tears started streaming down his cheeks, and he let out a garbled cry of hurt.

Mr. Duarte was right. Finch didn't need Sev, not the way Sev needed Finch.

"I hate you," Sev said through clenched teeth. "Just leave me alone, ok? You win. You fucking win."

Sensing a shift on the couch, that Mr. Duarte was actually leaving, Sev twisted his head up to glare at Mr. Duarte, caught his arm, jerked him a little bit. Mr. Duarte stared down at him, completely expressionless. Sev snorted bitterly.

"Why didn't you just fucking kill me?" Sev asked.

There was a flicker in Mr. Duarte's eyes, a small frown playing on his lips. Placing his hand over the one Sev had wrapped around his arm, he gently unclasped it. To Sev's surprise, Mr. Duarte took Sev's hand, and held it gently.

After a moment, he sat down. "The man used a belt on me," he said, his voice tight.

Sev blinked, and then: "You saw him already?" His throat still hurt and was raspy from sobbing.

"Last night."

Picturing a faceless, shadowy man standing over Mr. Duarte with a belt, Sev let out a long breath. The tension in his chest was already lifting. He could just see Mr. Duarte's arrogant expression, testing the man, not really believing he was in trouble. This thought made Sev grin. "Where did you do it?" Sev asked.

"A motel, he chose it."

Sev imagined that the man didn't give Mr. Duarte any choice about anything— he decided the time, place, and what they would do, and Mr. Duarte had to agree without question.

"Was he nice?"

There was a sigh, and Mr. Duarte leaned back against the cushions. "No," he said, "Not really. I was expecting someone more professional, but this guy really had his own agenda."

"What does that mean?" Sev replied, looking over at Mr. Duarte with a still tear-soaked face.

"There's a certain amount of risk you take by finding people online," Mr. Duarte said, his gaze off into the distance, "You're missing that key component that real couples get to have, you know? Trust. Trust is very important." Covering his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers curled, Mr. Duarte looked like he might just start crying too.

Which would have been pretty awesome.

"Tell me," Sev said, "What did you mean before— his own agenda?"

"Um," Mr. Duarte said, and then paused. He dropped his hand, and stared at Sev, at Sev's tears. "Do you really … want to hear this? I mean, I guess it would make you feel better."

"Did he get too rough?" Sev replied.

Mr. Duarte nodded, not dropping eye contact.

"Then, yeah, I want to hear. And yes, it will make me feel better." This last part was said with an edge.

"Fine," Mr. Duarte replied, a light blush tinging his cheek. "It started out normal enough, we laid out ground rules … " Snorting, Mr. Duarte shook his head, "Little did I know ..." he said with a rueful smile, "Anyway, he did some shaming stuff— made me stay in position while he got ready, lectured me about being … "

Again he paused, and then tilted his head. "God, this is embarrassing," he muttered, but after a second, he continued, "About being a liar, and manipulative. Those were the things I told him to say."

Sev could feels his cheeks heating, his heartbeat picking up a little with each nervous word out of Mr. Duarte's mouth.

"So, then— and I'm pretty sure now that he did that to put me off-guard— he spanked me a little with his hands, over my pants. Just, really tame stuff," Mr. Duarte continued. He was speaking with a monotonous voice, as if he was reading from the phonebook. "Basically, I figured he was harmless."

"So what happened?" Sev replied, practically salivating. He really, really wanted to hear about how hard Mr. Duarte had it. That he had got what was coming to him.

"Well," Mr. Duarte said, "I didn't really have time to react … he had these things, these two pairs of bondage cuffs, he got the first one around my wrist, and bound it to my ankle— "

Uh, wait. No, not … Sev blinked, staring at Mr. Duarte, suddenly feeling like he had no idea which of the two of them was the asshole at this point.

" —which was really all he needed to get the other side bound. Which … yeah, so I was facedown on the bed with my ass in the air. I don't … consent didn't really seem to be on this guy's list of priorities."

Well, that cleared it up. Sev was the asshole.

"Mr. Duarte," Sev said, leaning towards him, "He didn't, um, you know … "

"No," Mr. Duarte replied, "He did not." Still not looking at Sev, Mr. Duarte blinked, his eyes wet. "So, right, well … with the belt, he … "

His voice died out, and he bent forward, running his hands through his hair, his body trembling.

"I'm sorry," Sev said, "Ok? Mr. Duarte? I really, really am." Tugging his phone out of his pocket, he leaned over too and showed it to Mr. Duarte. "Look, I'm deleting it, ok? I didn't email it to myself, or anything, this is the only one." With a press of the button, Sev watched the picture he had of Mr. Duarte disappear.

There was a tick of silence, and Sev couldn't see Mr. Duarte's face, he was turned away. Suddenly, Mr. Duarte stood up, his back to Sev. His shoulders were shaking. "Mr. Duarte?" Sev said slowly, his stomach twisting with guilt.

Mr. Duarte turned, and Sev's mouth dropped when he saw that Mr. Duarte had his hand to his mouth, covering up a bout of laughter. Mr. Duarte's eyes were dancing. "Oh, Sev," he said between giggles. He had to wipe away some drool from the corner of his mouth. He tilted his head to the side, his eyebrows knitting together in mock concern, even as he tried to swallow down another chuckle.

" … You really are too easy," he said.

And then he left Sev all alone.


	5. Chapter 5

The door to the art classroom swinging shut and clicking into place was like a switch in Sev's head. A sudden flood of helpless anger rushing up from the pit of his stomach had him twisting around on the couch. He pounded the tattered cushions, accenting each hit with a sharp "Fuck!"

His shoulder was burning from moving too jerkily, but he kept ramming his fist into the couch, the soft padding giving little satisfaction. He wanted to hit something solid and hard.

Why did he delete that picture? Oh, because Mr. Duarte was a fucking asshole who would tell some twisted, fucked up story to get Sev to do what he wanted. Sev was a sap, he completely fell for Mr. Duarte's hunched, shaking form and his hurt voice, and totally forgot that Mr. Duarte had been beating him down with cruel words about Finch only a few moments before.

"That asshole," Sev hissed, his fingers digging into the cushion. His vision was tunneling, and all he could see was Mr. Duarte's mocking face.

Swallowing, Sev forced himself to slowly recline back down onto the couch. White hot rage was still fueling his heartbeat, but at least he had a control on the punching. His fingers were trembling, and he felt the strain of a tension headache throbbing at his temple.

Gnawing on his lip, he stretched around, groping under the seat cushion of the couch for his weed and lighter. He sighed, scowling at the now crushed doobie, but with a shrug, stuffed the tip in his mouth. He needed this. He really, really needed this.

Flipping the lighter open, he spun the ignitor with a experienced thumb, and breathed in, the spiky heat of the smoke hitting his throat. After a few more puffs, he sank back against the couch, completely boneless, and waited for the weed to take effect.

He felt the lighter tumble out of the palm of his hand. In the distance, he could hear people still outside eating lunch, and it vaguely occurred to him that he should just book it now before he was far too gone to care if someone caught him smoked out on the couch. On the other hand, he wondered what Mr. Duarte would do if he walked into his fifth period art class, to find Sev high a kite out back.

"Fuck Mr. Duarte," Sev said, his lip curling.

That stupid teacher. He thought he could just mess with Sev, and it would be all fun and games, that Sev wouldn't do a fucking thing about it. Well, Sev thought with relish, that's fine. Mr. Duarte could go on underestimating him, because Sev will very much enjoy seeing the look on Mr. Duarte's face when he gets what's coming to him.

Laughing, Sev took another drag. He wasn't sure if it was the weed, but he suddenly had this light, fluffy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he thought about Mr. Duarte— because the thought 'Mr. Duarte was gonna get what's coming to him' didn't have to be vague and toothless. Sev could get very, very specific about what Mr. Duarte had coming. Like paddles and switches specific.

Like turning Mr. Duarte over his knee specific.

"Shit," Sev laughed, uplifted by just the thought of his hand smacking Mr. Duarte's ass, of hearing those breathy whimpers again. It seemed almost impossible, like a surreal dream, that he had even been able to spank Mr. Duarte in the first place.

Mr. Duarte must have been really desperate.

Slouching forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees, Sev narrowed his eyes at the wall bordering the art classroom patio. He had felt a distinct thud in his chest at the idea of Mr. Duarte being desperate for it.

Yes— there was something really fucking appealing about that. Something much more appealing than forcing Mr. Duarte to tell Sev scraps about things he did with other men.

Maybe deleting the picture wasn't such a loss after all. If Sev ever spanked Mr. Duarte with that hanging over them, it would taint the entire thing, wouldn't it? Mr. Duarte would have the right to look at Sev like Sev was a piece of shit if he did that. Because Sev would be a piece of shit if he did that.

Yes, without the picture was better. Without the picture was Mr. Duarte on his knees, begging Sev to spank him, to make him cry. Because he wanted it, and because he needed it— from Sev.

Sev frowned. But, how the hell would he get Mr. Duarte back, and bent over something if he didn't have the picture? That was the fucking question.

'''''

Mr. Duarte sighed. "I thought we talked about trying to mix the primaries this time around?"

He was standing in front of the giant pegboard used for art critiques, one arm crossed over his middle, propping up the other by the elbow.. "And yet— " he said, turning to look at the smattering of students still paying attention to him. "Why do I have the feeling all of you used colors straight from the tube?"

"Come on, Mr. Duarte," one of Sev's classmates said, "It's easier, isn't it? If we have all the colors made already, why do we have to even bother mixing them?"

Sev smirked at this, watching as Mr. Duarte tried to hide a scowl. Sev had never paid attention before, but if he looked really closely, he could now see the small tells of Mr. Duarte's mood. It was turning into quite the game, he thought, and Mr. Duarte wasn't nearly as good at hiding himself as he thought he was. Leaning his chair back against the back wall of the classroom, Sev crossed his arms, tapping his feet as they rested on the art table. This was fun.

"It's so you can have a better understanding— " Mr. Duarte was saying, but but his words cuts off, his expression going flat. The student who had spoken had turned his gaze down, staring glassy-eyed at his smart phone.

Cocking his head, Sev lifted his hand lazily. "Mr. Duarte," he said, and several students actually looked up. Sev rarely spoke during critiques.

"Yes?" Mr. Duarte replied, his face the epitome of pleasantness.

"I mixed my colors."

Mr. Duarte glanced over his shoulder, at the pegboard. "This is yours?" he asked, nodding towards one of the paintings. He sounded genuinely impressed. Looking back at Sev, he gave Sev a small smile. "I noticed that one earlier. Gave me hope."

Sev blinked at the praise. "Well," was all he managed to say, rubbing the back of his head, grinning slightly.

Mr. Duarte narrowed his eyes, his smile seeming slightly more calculated. "Anyway—" he said, with a cocked eyebrow, turning back to discuss the rest of the paintings. Sev stared at him for a moment, and then flopped back down against his seat. That asshole. That … absolute, complete and total fucker.

Sev continued watching Mr. Duarte, sinking down in his seat, his arms dangling at his sides. His attempt at being a smartass was a complete failure, and once again, Mr. Duarte had played him with a few short words and a smile.

This ate at Sev, as he stared at Mr. Duarte.

Everything about Mr. Duarte was so— smart. Even his clothes. No one Sev's age, especially in this hick town, wore pastel sweater vests, and trim bow ties, or those black, thick-rimmed glasses. Mr. Duarte always appeared so— presentable. And clean. Clean, and slick. The exact kind of man one would want to break with a few sharp smacks of a paddle.

Or, maybe that was just Sev. Anyway, he wanted to see Mr. Duarte cry again, but that didn't seem likely, what with Mr. Duarte being so talented at shutting Sev down.

Sev sighed, and dropped his head back, hitting it against the wall. He heard a chair being pulled up next to him, and looked over through the corner of his eye to see Janey sitting down next to him, chair turned backwards, and resting her head on her arms. She turned, her cheek down, and looked at him. "You don't have to apologize," she said, "I'll just tell him you did."

"Why would you do that?" Sev drawled, glancing around, looking for Finch— who was in the front, actually paying attention to Mr. Duarte.

"Because this is your guys' senior year," Janey said, "and I don't want to be the reason Finch isn't talking to his best friend."

Sev stared at her for a moment, his expression flat. Was this how it was going to be? Janey was pitying Sev, and she was the one who was coming over here while Finch sat, completely oblivious, on the other side of the classroom? Was Finch really going to ignore Sev unless Sev "apologized" to Janey?

Breathing out through his nose, Sev leaned towards Janey, crossing his arms. "Did you ever stop to think," he said, his voice tight, "that you're the only one putting effort into him and I talking again?"

Janey blinked, and then slowly narrowed her eyes. "That just tells me that you two are emotionally-constipated blockheads who rely on more mature people to do the heavy lifting for you."

Bitch. Sev shook his head at her, and leaned back in his seat.

Maybe if he just ignored her, she would finally leave and be lovey-dovey with Finch over on the other side of the classroom where Sev didn't have to see it or listen to it. What right did she have to say that she was any more mature then the rest of them? Sev was older than her, for fuck's sake.

Then he had a thought. Looking at her from the corner of his eye, he gnawed on his lip for a second before saying, "Hey, Janey."

She seemed taken aback by just those two short words. " … Yeah?"

"Since you think I'm so fucking immature," Sev said, careful to keep his tone sarcastic and dismissive, "What would I do to seem— I don't know, impressive."

Janey blinked at him. "Impressive?"

"To adults," Sev muttered, scratching at the stained surface of the art table with his finger. His eyes wandered up to Janey. "Like quit school and find a real job, or something?"

"Quit school?" Janey replied, her eyes blowing wide. "No way! Sev, you're so close to graduating. Why would you fuck that up now?"

"Because I don't care," Sev replied with a shrug, "This place sucks, and I could do just fine being a cattle hand or something." It wasn't like the idea had just popped in his head. Quitting school and working for one of the local ranches or farms was pretty par for the course for kids at his high school.

"That wouldn't impress anyone," Janey said, her voice turning serious. "When have you ever heard of quitting being impressive?" She had her eyes narrowed on Sev.

He hadn't expected Janey to take such a stand on the matter. He cocked an eyebrow at her, and her serious expression turned into a scowl. "Sev, you're still a kid in high school. That's your limit right now. So be impressive within that limit."

This gave Sev pause. "What do you mean?"

"You used to be really good at swimming, and you used to be really popular until you started lone-wolfing it behind the art classroom … you can't be impressive as an adult right now, Sev, but you can be impressive as a high school student."

Sev considered this. "Yeah?"

"It's all you can do, right now," Janey replied with a nod of her head. "You have to start from somewhere." With a curve of her eyebrow, she smirked at Sev's disheveled clothes and greasy hair. "And right now, you're at rock bottom."

'''''

It seemed absurd that the only motivation he had to patch things up with his best friend was because he owed a debt to Janey.

Talking to Finch used to be second nature, something Sev didn't even have to think about. Yet, over the course of the past few months, he had found himself analysing every word he wanted to say to Finch before he said it, and then regretting it the second it left his mouth. Janey coming around had almost made things easier— Sev didn't feel so pressured to say something witty and hilarious every five seconds to keep Finch entertained, so that Finch wouldn't be bored hanging out with Sev.

Which was a weird thought too, since Finch and Sev were best friends, and had been best friends since forever, and they had never run out of things to talk about. But it wasn't even that, because before, they hadn't needed things to talk about every five minutes. They could play video games, or go fishing in the delta, and silence was fine.

The worst part, was all of this was in Sev's head, and Finch didn't know a thing. He was just the same ol' Finch, working at his father's fruit stand, only he didn't want to get high anymore. Because of Janey.

That bitch.

"Sev."

Flinching, Sev looked over his shoulder from where he was draped over a bookshelf in the library. He had been watching people drift in and out while waiting for Finch to be done— Finch was a library aide that period —and chewing on his nails. "Hey," Sev said, still looking from the corner of his eye. He didn't exactly feel motivated to stand upright.

"Please tell me you didn't ditch class just to come to the library."

The corner of Sev's lip curled upwards, and he was slightly buoyed by the familiar deadpan tone in Finch's voice. "Nah," he said, combing a languid hand through his hair, "I'm legal." He held up a giant laminated piece of paper— 'POTTY PASS' written with garish marker on one side, and a smiling clip-art toilet illustration on the other. Finch stared at it, and then snorted.

"Yeah … " Sev replied, dragging out the word. "Look, I just wanted to say, this shit going on with me? I'm sorry— " His voice died, and he wondered where the hell he was going with this. "It's my problem, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you and Janey."

When Finch didn't immediately answer, Sev felt the need to fill up the silence. "And it's like, we used to hang out all the time, and we would smoke— but you're kind of being a judging asshole about the smoking now? But whatever, I don't even need to smoke really, that's not the problem," he said, fully realizing the words coming out of his mouth were outpacing his brain, but he couldn't stop. "Shit, what I'm trying to say, Finch, is that you're being a fucking terrible friend. I wouldn't do this to you if I got a girlfriend."

He breathed out, his heart thundering from the sudden outburst. Glancing up, he jerked back a little when he saw Finch appraising him with a flat expression.

"We can't date each other," Finch said, finally.

Lips parting a little, Sev stared back at him with wild eyes, and then let out a choked laugh. "What the fuck," he said, his voice rising an octave, "I'm not— that's not— I'm not a homo!"

Finch barely reacted. "Whether you are, or you aren't, we can't date."

Sev was breathing a little too heavily, and for some reason, he felt cornered with his back to the stack of books. He felt like everyone in the library was listening in on them. "You're not even making sense," he said, lowering his voice.

"I'm just telling you, straight out, I like having a girlfriend," Finch replied, "I like Janey, and I like being with her. Friendships can only go so far."

This brought Sev up short, but then he felt a hint of relief. "Wait, if this is about fucking, then just go find some slutty freshman— "

"It isn't about that."

Closing his mouth, Sev stepped back from Finch. There was an edge to Finch's voice, and his eyes told Sev that he had crossed a line. Immediately, Sev felt a driving need to rewind their conversation, to take it to a less serious place, because suddenly his chest felt very tight, and he just wanted to laugh the whole thing off. "Finch," Sev said, but Finch shook his head.

"Not even my parents care about my future in the way she does," Finch said, "I look at her, and I know there isn't going to be another person on this planet who's more on my side than she is."

Sev was mesmerized by the look in Finch's eyes … the dead seriousness. A long exhale escaped Sev, and he slumped back down on the bookshelf. Finch's face had never looked like that, in all the years that they were best friends. Sev knew every flicker, every twitch of the eyebrow, he knew what they meant. But he had never seen this. "There's me," he said without thinking.

Finch didn't answer him, and in that deafening silence, Sev suddenly heard the almost compassionate words of Mr. Duarte, "Why are you wasting all of this misdirected effort on me?"

Misdirected efforts.

Eyes meeting Finch's, Sev breathed in. "We can't date," he said slowly.

Finch considered him. "I wish it wasn't true, sometimes."

Sev snorted, dropping his head as his knees buckled slightly, and he leaned back against the shelf. The books edged into his back uncomfortably, grounding him, keeping him from getting too lost in the sudden hot rush of despair clogging his brain. Why would Finch even leave the slightest opening like that? Grasping the shelf, Sev pushed himself back up. "Fuck you," he said, without looking at Finch. "Why would you say that?"

"Because it's true."

Shaking his head, Sev ducked past Finch, flipping him off as he went.

''''

Sev managed to hold off until school was over.

After leaving the library, he immediately felt pulled towards the art classroom, but instead, he forced himself to return to class. By the time the last bell rang at the end of the day, he was so numb, someone could have knocked him right over, and he wouldn't have given a shit.

Apparently that numbness was really just a stopgap. The second he strode into the art classroom, without even checking to make sure there wasn't anyone else but Mr. Duarte, he just opened his mouth and started shouting, "Why do you wear that flamboyant shit? Didn't you say you got bashed in your hometown? And what the fuck are those glasses, do you even need glasses? Aren't you too old to be a hipster?"

He wasn't even near Mr. Duarte yet as he said these things, but he was closing in. Mr. Duarte was washing his hands at the classroom sink, soap still dribbling down his wrists as Sev hit the counter, and leaned over so he could force eye contact. "This is a hick town and a hick school, do you think anyone is impressed by your gay-ass shit? The best thing anything anyone could call you is metrosexual, and when those PTA bitches say that, they really mean homosexual— they mean fag!"

Mr. Duarte was arched back in surprise, water now seeping into his sleeves. After a pause, he reached for the knob, and turned the sink off. Sev breathed heavily, feeling his anger abate just from watching Mr. Duarte then slowly dry his hands with a fraying dishrag. "Yeah," Sev said, when the silence started to catch up to him.

"Yeah?" Mr. Duarte replied calmly, and the word felt like a placating salve. Sev exhaled, the rushing in his ears disappearing.

He pushed away from the counter, and collapsed in one of the crappy plastic chairs, and then bent completely forward, resting his forehead on the art table. The cool wood felt nice, and also the silence. The classroom was dark, and Sev wondered if Mr. Duarte would let him sleep there while Mr. Duarte got ready to leave.

"If you're just going to hang around, then you can help me."

Well, there was his answer. With an exaggerated sigh, Sev sat up. "With what?"

"Start putting the chairs on the tables."

Sighing again, Sev got to his feet, and grabbed the chair he was sitting on. He didn't bother with grace, and just shoved it on the table with a bang. Moving on to the next one, he took a quick glance at Mr. Duarte. He was sitting at another table, quietly sifting through paintings, and marking grades. Sev frowned. "You're not gonna say anything?"

"What do you want me to say?"

Shrugging, Sev unceremoniously dropped another chair on the table. "You could give me detention for calling you a fag."

"Typically detentions involve staying after school and doing light chores."

Sev paused, and stared at the chair he was about to pick up. Without meaning to, he let out a small, breathy laugh— and then continued putting chairs on the tables, the clanging sound of which was the only mark of time for several minutes. When Sev hit the end of the row, he looked up at Mr. Duarte. "You knew, didn't you?"

"Knew what?" Mr. Duarte replied, without a single break in concentration from his grading.

Opening his mouth to respond, Sev stopped. When he didn't say anything, Mr. Duarte looked up over his glasses at Sev, cocking an eyebrow. "I haven't even said this to myself yet," Sev said, finally.

There was a subtle quirk to Mr. Duarte's lip.

Sev exhaled. "I like Finch. And you knew that, didn't you? What gave it away?"

Sighing, Mr. Duarte tilted his head. "I guessed," he said, "I didn't know."

"Finch knew."

Mr. Duarte actually looked surprised at this, his eyebrows rising. He reached up, and scratched his head for a moment, his eyes looking off to the side. "So that outburst earlier was … what, teenage angst over being gay?"

"Don't be an asshole," Sev replied, his tone darkening.

"Sorry," Mr. Duarte replied, his gaze unnaturally compassionate. "What I meant was, are you upset by this? Or are you fine, and it's just that Finch can't like you back?"

Sev stared at him. "Are you being legit, right now?" he asked, "Like, are you being nice and trying to help me, or is this another game and any second you're gonna bitch-slap me with something?"

"What does that mean?" Mr. Duarte replied, crossing his arms. He didn't look amused.

"Yesterday," Sev replied, "You were a total dickwad about Finch, you even made me fucking cry."

Mr. Duarte's expression went flat. "You were blackmailing me."

"You wouldn't let me spank you!" Sev shouted in response, his eyes wide. As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized how entitled they sounded. And pretty bratty, too. And stupid. Sev felt ridiculous, and he could feel a blush start to heat the back of his neck. Mr. Duarte was staring at him with a stony expression, and Sev felt his fingers curl into his palms. "It just doesn't make sense," Sev said, "I'll do it for you, I really want to!"

"But it's not for me," Mr. Duarte replied, apparently finally fed up. "You just want to cause pain."

"That's not true," Sev growled, his teeth clenching.

"It is true," Mr. Duarte said, "You even said it yourself." With a sigh, he pushed himself up, and started gathering the paintings and grading sheets. "And you never stopped once to ask what I wanted. I know this might not have occurred to you, Sev— teenagers tend to be pretty self-involved —but I have specific things I want from the man spanking me. I want him to know what he's doing, I want him to be in control, and I really, really don't want to know that I can make him cry." Pausing, Mr. Duarte appraised Sev with cold eyes. "You don't fulfill any of those things, Sev."

Sev stared back. "I guess I don't."

"Right," Mr. Duarte replied, with a nod of his head. "Then we'll put all this behind us?"

There was a pause, as Sev continued to stare. Just as Mr. Duarte was about to saying something else, Sev broke into a smile.

"Sure thing, Mr. Duarte," he said, "Let's put it all behind us."

'''''

Sev broke the surface of the pool, enjoying the gush of water cascading down his chest. With chlorine-stinging eyes, he looked up at the time board, and let out a loud 'whoop!', jumping to the lane rope to high-five Darren Smith.

In only five weeks, he had managed to match his times from the year before.

"Man," Darren said, hanging off the lane rope, "I saw you ahead of me the entire time, really busting my balls! I forgot how fucking annoying it is staring at your nasty feet."

Sev grinned at him, shoving water in Darren's face before grabbing the cement edge of the pool, and pushing himself out of the water with one fluid movement. Bending over, he flipped off his cap, shook his ears out, and turned to offer a hand to Darren.

"Fuck you, man," Darren laughed, pulling himself out of the pool.

Sev shrugged, cocky smile etched on his face, when suddenly remembered to look at the clock. "Shit," he said, balling up his cap, "First period!" He started jogging for the locker room, Darren close at his heels.

"What's the rush?" Darren asked, even as he picked up his pace to keep up with Sev.

Sev turned to grin at him. "Art project's due."

'''

"Hey, Mr. Duarte."

Mr. Duarte looked up from his desk, and stared at Sev, whose hair was still dripping from the pool. "Sev," he said, "ready for the critique today?"

"Yep," Sev replied, grinning. He held up a folio he had clutched in his hands. "I did a series of pieces."

"That's great."

Sev knew when he was being dismissed, and he backed away from the office with a smile, and quickly joined his classmates at the pegboard. Nodding at Finch and Janey, he opened the folio, and started clipping the pieces to the board, his grin growing wider with each piece. As the seconds ticked by, he wondered if Mr. Duarte was still in his office, or had walked out to the classroom.

Sev almost giggled from the anticipation hitting his stomach.

"What do you look so pleased about?" Janey asked, moving next to him. He leaned back so she could get a better view of his paintings. "Oh, Sev, these are interesting!"

The corners of his lips were hurting from grinning too hard. "You think?"

"Yeah," she replied, "They're very— "

Sev didn't get to hear what they were. There was a rustle, and Sev looked around to see Mr. Duarte standing there, stack of empty critique forms slipping through his fingers. He was staring, wide-eyed, at Sev's paintings. Turning back around, Sev could feel the flicker of triumph he had been waiting for.

There were five paintings, and each one looked pretty similar. They were symmetrical, mostly hues of pink and red, with a black line down the middle of each one. The differences were in the marks. One painting had thick red ovals, the next had bright pink lines criss-crossing over it, and another even had a little bit of purple and blue stripping.

"Are they butterflies?" Janey asked.

Sev glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Duarte, who was white as a sheet.

"No," he said, "They're a promise."


	6. Chapter 6

Mr. Duarte had knelt down to pick up the errant critique forms, and Sev moved forward to help him, but then he stopped. Instead, he stood over Mr. Duarte, watching him grasp at the sheets of paper. Sev couldn't see Mr. Duarte's face, but he did see a tenseness in his shoulders, and the slight tremor in his fingers.

Once Mr. Duarte had all the papers in a stack again, there was a brief, suspended moment where he stayed crouched down, his face towards the ground. When he finally stood back up, Sev took a step back, and their eyes met.

Mr. Duarte smiled at him. A smile that could have frozen the deepest pits of hell.

But then another kid walked up, and the moment passed. Mr. Duarte's eyes slid away from Sev, and he was talking pleasantly with the student, handing over a critique form. Sev hadn't heard what they were saying. His heart was racing, pounding harder against his chest than it ever had after a swim race.

Sev let out a sharp breath. He was still standing close to Mr. Duarte, close enough that the other kid was sending him odd looks, probably wondering why Sev was just lurking there, listening to their conversation. Sev felt motivated to grin at him, make the situation even weirder, but he didn't. He did place a light touch on Mr. Duarte's elbow.

"You should hand out the critique forms."

Mr. Duarte looked at Sev, his mouth a tense line. "What— Sev?"

"Class has been going for ten minutes already," Sev replied, watching Mr. Duarte with a level expression, "The critiques always run over before everyone gets to go." His hand slid a little on Mr. Duarte's elbow, making it more than just a touch. "We should start now."

Sev saw the slight exhale escape Mr. Duarte's parted lips, as Mr. Duarte stared at him. Mr. Duarte blinked, glanced at the student— and then pressed the stack of critique forms against Sev's chest. "How nice of you to volunteer," Mr. Duarte said. He pushed away from Sev, and gestured for the student to follow him towards the peg board. Sev watched, fingers curling around the stack of papers.

Sev— Sev had actually won that round. Against Mr. Duarte.

He happily moved through the classroom, absent-mindedly tossing the sheets of paper towards the other students, who all clapped awkwardly at the floating critique forms, trying to catch them in the air.

"Jesus, Sev," one kid muttered as several sheets fluttered onto his lap. Sev flipped him off, and continued down the row.

"Hey," he said when he finally reached Finch and Janey. Finch had his arm around Janey's shoulder, and Sev made sure to look anywhere but there, ignoring the slight pang in his heart. He dropped a form on the table for himself, and then handed over the last two sheets.

"I didn't know you were so helpful," Janey said, taking the forms. "How did Mr. Duarte manage to make you a teacher's pet?"

"Dunno," Sev replied, fighting away a smirk. His eyes moved towards the other side of the classroom where Mr. Duarte was standing. "Why not?"

When he looked back at Finch, he almost blanched. Finch was staring at him, frowning slightly. He looked over at Mr. Duarte, and then back at Sev. For some reason, Sev's mouth had run dry, and he opened his mouth to start blathering whatever words he could form, when Janey let out a long sigh.

She had her chin on her palm and she was looking at Mr. Duarte. "How old do you think he is?"

"Dunno," Sev said again. He sat down across from Finch and Janey. "Who cares?" he said after a beat. He was watching Finch.

"I wonder if he has a hard time," Janey said, "You know, being gay." She blinked, and then added, "I mean here, being gay and working here."

Both Finch and Sev were silent, and she looked over. "What?" she asked, "Don't tell me you guys are homophobic?"

"No." Finch said. He looked at Sev. There was a hard-set look to his gaze, and he spoke with careful and measured words. "But we probably shouldn't talk about Mr. Duarte. He's a teacher."

"Oh," Janey replied, sounding slightly disappointed. She shrugged after a moment, and returned her attention to the table. "Finch is so respectful," she said to Sev with a laugh, "but I really do love gossip."

Sev nodded, barely acknowledging her. He scratched the back of his head. He tapped his foot. He banged his elbow on the table when he tried to rest on it with too much nonchalance. All of this happened within seconds, but his frenetic movements finally came to halt when he determinedly crossed his arms and locked his hands under his armpits. Both Janey and Finch stared at him with raised eyebrows.

"Who gives a shit about that fag," Sev said, his voice cracking. He coughed, clearing his throat. His voice hadn't cracked since he was fifteen.

Finch tilted his head, looking at Sev from the corner of his eye, but it was Janey who leaned forward, and flicked Sev's forehead. "Hey," she said, "Don't use that word."

"Yeah," Sev replied quickly, he looked down at the table. "My bad."

Janey sat back down. "I just don't want him to think we're a bunch of intolerant hicks, you know?"

"Whatever," Sev mumbled, leaning forward to bury his face in his arms. He couldn't force himself to meet Finch's eyes anymore.

'''

Art critiques weren't exactly riveting, and after several rounds of "What do you think about this piece?" with mumbled replies of "It's interesting," Mr. Duarte's pleasant demeanor had waned. He was resting his hands on his back, staring at the peg board. When the silence went on several beats too long, some of the students looked up from the homework they were scurrying to finish for their next class.

Sev was already paying attention. He was sitting back languidly, one arm over the back of his chair. Poor Mr. Duarte— Sev's paintings were next, and it looked like Mr. Duarte just couldn't bring himself to stand in front of them. Leaning forward, Sev clasped his hands together.

"What do you think of those pieces, Mr. Duarte?" he asked.

"I'm sensing a theme," Mr. Duarte replied quietly. He looked over his shoulder at Sev, his gaze hard. Someone dropped a pencil, and he blinked. Turning fully around, he surveyed the class silently for a moment, and then crossed his arms. "So, class, what do we think of Sev's paintings?"

"I like how they're symmetrical," Janey said, smiling at Sev. "I also was surprised Sev used pink."

"Well, it's more of a rosy beige," Sev said, with just the right amount of sarcasm. The class chuckled as a whole.

"Do they mean anything?" another kid asked.

Sev's lip curled slowly. He didn't know how to explain this delicious feeling, but all he could do was stare at the student who asked the question— a warmth pooling in his stomach. This was the same kind of feeling he got when he looked down the row of blocks at the pool, and took in his opponents, sized them up. The thick, heavy feeling of wanting to win against someone else. Badly.

"They mean ... " he said, letting his gaze flit to Mr. Duarte, dragging out the moment. "They're just like a visual representation of where I am right now."

Mr. Duarte's eyes widened for a moment, and then his head dropped. He— was stifling laughter. Leaning forward, Sev scowled. What the fuck? Mr. Duarte looked back up, wiping at his eye, grinning, and then crossed his arms. "Oh, Sev," he said, "That's really— well, that doesn't really mean anything at all."

Sev slid his tongue over his teeth. "What?"

"You say these represent where you are right now," Mr. Duarte said, staring at Sev, his eyes alit with amusement. He gestured at the paintings. "However, what I'm seeing here are a bunch of vaguely planned ideas with nothing to back them up." He cocked his head. "There's no power behind them. They're empty threats."

Sev's face flushed. He looked down at the table, his hands balling into fists. "I—" he started to say, but then Mr. Duarte cut over him.

"That's enough for today," Mr. Duarte said, "You guys pack up, and make sure to put all the work in a pile."

The class was taken over by the sounds of rustling backpacks and sliding chairs, and Sev deflated, falling back against his chair. After all that, it ended so fucking lame. Empty threat, huh? Mr. Duarte sure was cocky.

"Sev," Janey said, touching him on the shoulder, "Ready?" He glanced up, and Janey and Finch were standing over him, backpacks hanging off their shoulders. He sighed, nodded his head, and lurched onto his feet. "I can't believe him," Janey was saying, "I've never heard him tear down our art like that before."

"Who knows," Finch murmured. He was watching Sev closely, but Sev was too pissed off to care.

"He's a fucking douchebag," Sev spat, "Jesus, does he ever lose— "

"Lose what?"

Sev looked over at Finch. " —Nothing."

Just when the silence was threatening to extend for a beat too long, Janey looped her arms under both Finch and Sev's elbows, and pulled them forward. "Come on," she said, "Class!"

Sev allowed himself to be dragged from the classroom, but his gaze stayed on Mr. Duarte even as the door closed behind them. His eyes met Finch's as he looked away, and he clenched his jaw. Finch was too fucking observant for his own good, now and five weeks ago … but at least he was still talking to Sev.

After their little conversation in the library, and then the run-in with Mr. Duarte, Sev had pretty much fallen apart in a self-pitying mess of weed and beer. It took his sister digging through his room and confiscating his entire stash for him to sober up again.

He hadn't known what to do. He was ... well, he was pretty much in love with Finch. Hours of laying awake that night had him reeling through all the recent memories of being nervous around Finch, of hating Janey— and, really, of wanting to touch Finch. He had never let himself admit it, but he had always just wanted to touch Finch.

"Seriously, though, what was up with Mr. Duarte?" Janey asked, cutting through Sev's thoughts. Sev shrugged, careful to keep his gaze away from Finch. Mr. Duarte ...

That was the second thing. One morning, only a few days after going back to the swim team, Sev had been lazily floating in the pool and just thinking. Everything felt better— his body and his mind. He thought that he should probably apologize to Mr. Duarte. That Mr. Duarte was right, Sev was just using him as a distraction.

But that ... never happened. He couldn't bring himself to do it. If Mr. Duarte was just a distraction, than he was doing a great job of it. During class, Sev would just watch him, and, day by day, fantasies of ordering Mr. Duarte to bend over, making him call Sev "sir", started seeping in.

It was a quickly building itch, to break Mr. Duarte. And the agonizing part was that Mr. Duarte wanted to be broken. He was so stubborn, refusing Sev like that—refusing something that he needed.

That's what made him the brat. Well, a crafty brat.

Sev knew he was in over his head. But he had some ideas, and he had persistence, that was for damn sure. And at the end of the day, Mr. Duarte was a man who desperately wanted and needed to be disciplined by another man.

Sev was determined to be that man.

''''

The art classroom was dark, and for a moment, Sev wondered if Mr. Duarte had gone to the teacher's lounge or something. Sev hadn't seen him leave the classroom after the bell, but it was possible he slipped out before Sev had the chance to sprint over there.

He sat his paper bag lunch down on an art table, and glanced around. Bright light filtered through the glass patio doors, and he considered going out there and waiting on the couch. But no, he didn't want to seem like he was hiding, or planning some sneak attack. He sat down, and pulled out his sandwich.

There was the woosh of the door opening, and then a pause. "Sev..." Mr. Duarte said, but he didn't continue. Sev could hear his footsteps, and finally Mr. Duarte came into view as he walked around the table. With a sigh, he sat down his lunch tray, and lowered himself in a chair opposite from Sev. Taking up a french fry, he shoved it in his mouth.

"Something wrong, Mr. Duarte?" Sev asked, taking in Mr. Duarte's sagging demeanor. Brown eyes met Sev's, and Sev blinked, looking away.

"What a thing to ask," Mr. Duarte said drolly, after a moment.

Sev took another bite of his sandwich to keep himself from apologizing. Was he the reason Mr. Duarte looked so tired?

There was another sigh, and then more munching on french fries. Glancing up, Sev watched Mr. Duarte. Sev knew he should feel bad, but all he was really feeling at the moment was a perverse glee that he had Mr. Duarte alone, had this moment with him alone. Sev was the one Mr. Duarte was eating with and looking tired with. Yes, this all belonged to Sev.

"You and Finch seem to be doing well," Mr. Duarte said, taking a sip of his water.

"Uh— oh, yeah," Sev garbled, forcing himself to stop mindlessly staring at Mr. Duarte. "It's hard, though."

"I can imagine."

"He doesn't even act awkward around me," Sev said, "but ... he doesn't ... sometimes it feels like he's waving his relationship in my face."

Mr. Duarte cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head as he thought. "He probably thinks that's the best way to drive the point home," he said, pausing. His gaze was off to the side. "It's not very nice, but … it's effective."

"Yeah, but I want him to just drop it. He acts like he wants to keep our friendship going, but if that's true, he should stop fucking making out with her in front of me."

"You can't control him," Mr. Duarte said.

"I guess," Sev replied. He collapsed forward on his arms, and heaved a large sigh. "Fuck, why can't anything go right?" Before Mr. Duarte could answer him, he sat back up and leveled a scowl. "You know, I actually did put a lot of work into those paintings."

Mr. Duarte's eyes widened slightly, and only for a millisecond, but then his tired smile returned. "Do you want an apology or a thank you?" he asked, his words tinged with a bitter edge.

"I was just doing what you wanted," Sev said.

"Excuse me?"

Sev held up his hand, and counted down with his fingers, "You want a man who knows what he's doing— so, I googled spanking techniques, paddling, the switch, and strapping. You wanted someone who's in control— I tried to be authoritative in class by telling you to start." Sev paused. "And you want someone you can't make cry, but I can't really prove that right now!"

He swallowed, and his eyes met Mr. Duarte's. Mr. Duarte had a small smile playing on his lips, his eyes dancing as he looked at Sev. "That's what the paintings were about?"

"It's not easy, you know," Sev huffed, "Figuring out a way to fucking woo someone into dropping their pants so you can hit them with a belt."

Mr. Duarte's mouth cracked into a wide grin, which he quickly tried to hide with the back of his hand. But his shoulders were shaking with amusement, and after a second, he broke out laughing. "You are so cute," he said, resting his forehead against his fist.

"I mean," he continued between chuckles, "I thought you were trying to threaten me or blackmail me again."

Sev was smiling now, too. "Hell no," he said, "I'm done with that. I want you to be the one who comes to me, you know?"

"Ah," Mr. Duarte replied, breathing slowly and regaining his composure. Another round of breathy giggles escaped his lips, and then he finally seemed to calm down. Sev watched him closely, not wanting to ruin what was happening between them, and scared shitless that he would say something stupid.

What would someone who was in control of the situation say?

"Yeah," Sev continued slowly, "You're the one with needs, Mr. Duarte. I'm not gonna chase after you anymore. You have to be the one who comes to me for help."

Some of the amusement had left Mr. Duarte's eyes, but he didn't look angry. "Help?"

"You're an arrogant, manipulative pervert who sucks off other teachers' cocks in your own classroom," Sev said, his voice low. "I'm gonna be the one who makes sure you face punishment for all the shit you pull." He leaned forward, grabbing Mr. Duarte's wrist. "You're gonna be a broken, sobbing wreck— begging for me to be nice. You're gonna be on your knees, looking up at me, and you're gonna call me 'sir', and you're gonna love it."

Now Mr. Duarte's eyes were wide, his back stiff. After a second, he pulled his arm out of Sev's grasp with a sudden jerk, his fingers curling into his palms. He let out a long exhale, dropping his forehead on his palm. "Of course it would a high school student who says those things to me."

"So, you liked that?" Sev asked, his feet tapping on the ground. "I can say more— "

"No," Mr. Duarte replied tightly, holding up a finger. "Don't sound eager. You were blushing when you said it, and smiling, for god's sake. Also, you shouldn't have to grab at me. Someone with true authoritative power can command with just the implied threat behind their words."

Sev stared at the top of his head. "That's pretty specific, Mr. Duarte."

"That's the point," Mr. Duarte replied, looking up. "Who would want a boy scout to spank them? It was almost better when you seemed like a cocky shithead this morn— " He stopped, immediately pressing his lips into a thin line.

A grin spread across Sev's face. "You liked that, didn't you?" he said, "Tell the truth, Mr. Duarte, you like the idea of some shithead student getting the best of you."

Mr. Duarte opened his mouth to respond, but Sev cut him off with the swift crack of his palm slamming down on the table, and Mr. Duarte flinched. "That's too bad for you, Mr. Duarte," Sev said, "Because I am the fucking boy scout, and you're the shithead. My responsibility is setting you straight, fucker."

Sev felt confidence rushing through his veins. "Someone needs to teach you the hard lessons, Mr. Duarte," he said, "Since you're too fucking full of yourself."

Breathing out, he hoped to god that he hadn't been blushing that time.

Mr. Duarte was looking at Sev from the corner of his eyes, a small frown on his face. "You certainly say the right things," he drawled, looking down at his fingernails. But Sev didn't miss the slight tremor in his hand.

"Well, I'm new." Sev replied flatly, and Mr. Duarte looked back up at him. "Dealing with you feels like climbing Mt. Everest, honestly … Or something hard like that."

"Did it ever occur to you to give up?"

Sev smirked. "Like hell," he said, "Who would keep you in line?"

As if on cue, the door to the classroom swung open, and Sev had the sudden urge to hide under the desk, as if he had been caught doing something wrong. He paused at the quirked eyebrow Mr. Duarte sent him, and relaxed just as Mr. Simmons' voice boomed across the classroom.

"What's this?" Mr. Simmons asked, coming into view. He was smiling, and he rested a hand on Sev's shoulder. "Did this jerk give you lunch detention?"

Sev blinked up at him. "Uh— no."

He glanced back at Mr. Duarte, and almost blanched when he saw a blush tinging Mr. Duarte's cheeks. He was staring down at his plate of food, poking at a french fry with his fork. After a second, he coughed. "Did you need something, or ... "

"Not really," Mr. Simmons chuckled, sliding a hand over his hair, "Just missed you in the teacher's lounge."

Mr. Duarte was still looking at his plate. "I figured I would catch up on grading."

There was a beat of silence, and then Mr. Simmons cleared his throat and glanced quickly at Sev. Sev immediately got the feeling that Mr. Simmons didn't want him there. "Ah, yes— well," Mr. Simmons said, "God forbid some kid doesn't get a smiley face on his color wheel."

Sev's eyes jerked from Mr. Duarte to Mr. Simmons. "You're one to talk," he said, scowling. "PE teacher."

His words went over like the snap of a rubber band, making all three tense. Slightly nervous, he glanced at Mr. Duarte to see that the color had drained from Mr. Duarte's face. Suddenly, there was ruckus laughter, and Mr. Simmons was slapping Sev on the shoulder just a little too roughly. "You got me," he said, "Just a PE teacher." He let out a light breath. "Well. Fine. Caleb, I'll catch you after school."

When the door shut, Mr. Duarte's plastic fork snapped in his hand.

Sev remained silent for a moment, and then said, "That guy is a fucking asshole."

"That's enough," Mr. Duarte replied flatly.

"I can't be Mr. Simmons," Sev said. Mr. Duarte's eyes slowly found Sev's, and narrowed. "I can't," Sev repeated, "He's such a selfish dick. I want to help you, Mr. Duarte. I want to do the right things for you."

Mr. Duarte snorted. "I would be charmed if I didn't know it was all for the sake of bruising my ass."

"If you weren't the least bit interested, then you would have kicked me out of the classroom," Sev said with an even tone. "Yeah, I want to spank you. But you want to be spanked."

Mr. Duarte flicked his fingernail as he considered Sev. "Why do you want this so much, Sev?"

Well. Sev paused, drawing back. "I dunno," he murmured, "I just do."

"You just do?" Mr. Duarte replied, raising his eyebrows. "You think that's an acceptable answer?"

Rising from his chair, Mr. Duarte picked up his food tray. "Sev," he said, "I'm perfectly willing to talk with you about your feelings for Finch, to play the good gay mentor. Even if it might get me into a little bit of trouble. However, I can't keep playing this other game with you. It's too high stakes, and little reward. Especially since you have no clue what you're doing, and you don't even know why you're doing it."

Sev turned in his chair to watch Mr. Duarte walk to the door. Stopping with his hand on the knob, Mr. Duarte sighed and looked over his shoulder. "But, I guess I do appreciate the effort."

''''

This time he was purposely hiding behind the couch.

The talk with Mr. Duarte at lunch had rattled Sev. It also made him wonder if he was an idiot— he hadn't realized he was in love with Finch, and he was going through all this shit with Mr. Duarte without even really having a reason for doing it.

And now he was also acting like a stalker, but why not go for broke, right? He scooted farther down, waiting for the telltale sound of the door clicking open. When it came, he glanced up and scowled. Mr. Simmons had come in with Mr. Duarte.

"Come on," Mr. Simmons was saying, trailing after Mr. Duarte, "How can you still be mad?"

"I'm not," Mr. Duarte replied, brushing away from Mr. Simmons. "Anyway, like I said, I have some things to finish up here, so you can go first."

Mr. Simmons moved towards Mr. Duarte, making him back up until he hit one of the art tables. "Before I do, mind finishing me up?"

He was towering over Mr. Duarte, both in bulk and height, and the way he smoothly caged Mr. Duarte against the table had Sev's heart pounding. Sev leaned closer, his nose squishing against the window as Mr. Simmons palmed Mr. Duarte's cheek and pushed his thumb into Mr. Duarte's mouth.

"You're gonna suck my cock," Mr. Simmons said, his voice losing most of its amicability. His other hand was tightening around Mr. Duarte's upper arm.

Sev was tensed, just about to spring to his feet when something stopped him. He saw, plain as day, a bright flush on Mr. Duarte's cheeks. Mr. Duarte's eyes were glazed over as he dropped to his knees, his hands sliding down Mr. Simmons' sides as he went.

He looked up at Mr. Simmons with those eyes, his pink lips parted. "You don't need that woman, right?" he breathed.

Chuckling, Mr. Simmons cocked an eyebrow. "Sure, I do," he said, patting Mr. Duarte on the head. He pushed his fingers into Mr. Duarte's hair, shoving his head back. "But for now, all I want is you blowing me, Caleb."

Sev took it all in— the way Mr. Simmons stood over Mr. Duarte with an effortless air, completely confident in what he was doing, and Mr. Duarte on his knees, arms raised, desperately clinging to Mr. Simmons' waist. Sev couldn't believe the complete and total openness on Mr. Duarte's face, his wet eyes. The submissiveness.

Sev's heart skipped a beat.

That's what he wanted. For all the words and stories he had read on web forums about spanking, it hadn't quite clicked into place yet ... but now he knew exactly what all those people were talking about. Mr. Duarte was a proud and arrogant asshole, and to have him trembling submissively at Sev's feet would be the most delicious kind of control.

Sev's breath hitched as he watched Mr. Simmons slide a hand gently under Mr. Duarte's chin. He didn't need to be rough. Mr. Duarte was completely pliant, putty in Mr. Simmons' hands.

God … how Sev wanted that for himself.


	7. Chapter 7

Sev watched Mr. Duarte give Mr. Simmons a blow job, but only his dream that night did he stop it.

''''

Sev would like to swear that quitting the swim team was entirely because of his all-consuming love for Finch, and the broken heart that would just not let him take another stroke in the crystal clear waters of their high school's 25-yard length swimming pool. It had been a while since he was on the team, so this almost seemed plausible, even to Sev.

However … a daily front row seat to the boy's locker room before and after practice was a crash course reminder of a much more pressing reason for quitting.

"Look, Sev jizzed himself!"

Spinning around, Sev barely had time to react before Darren Smith squirted him with a bottle of family-sized sunscreen. As the white, oily liquid dripped down his abdomen, Sev looked up with a scowl. "Fucking high-larious, dickhead."

"Besides," a teammate called out, "That looks more like birdshit than jizz. You ever actually seen jizz, Darren?"

The room erupted in echoing laughter, and Darren flipped off the other kid, shouting, "Not nearly as much as you have, man, and at least it was all mine!"

Forcing out his own chuckle, Sev quickly turned around again, hiding his face in his locker as he rubbed in the unwanted sunscreen. He could still feel Darren standing behind him, wearing nothing but a speedo. They were all wearing nothing but speedos. Or they were butt-ass naked. How could Sev have forgotten about the windowless room filled with naked swim-toned bodies? It had been the star of his wet dreams all through freshman, sophomore, and junior year of high school.

He was just reaching for his towel when a stinging slap landed on his ass. "Shit!" he said, jerking around to find Darren grinning at him.

"Thought you might have had a stick shoved up there."

Sev zoned out for just a moment, when he felt the stinging from his ass. Huh, yeah, so this was what Mr. Duarte liked. The thought made him laugh, and he let out a snort, shaking his head. Darren snorted in return, and walked over to his own locker, apparently appeased with Sev's sudden upturn in mood.

Flipping the towel over his shoulder, Sev brushed passed the other boys on his row, trying to touch as little skin as possible. His grin was plastered on his face. He couldn't wait to tell Mr. Duarte that he could totally relate now— and that he would be all the better disciplinarian for it.

''''

His hand hit the wall, and the water from the drag overlapped his shoulders. Gripping the ledge, he let himself sink down until his entire body was submerged, his arm stretching up to break the surface. He stayed like for a moment, enjoying the silence, but then he felt something press down on his fingers.

He rose, the water rushing down over his head, and gazed up at the stupidly chiseled face of Mr. Simmons, who was lightly stepping on Sev's hand. Mr. Simmons cocked an eyebrow at him. "I thought I said four 100's, and three 75's."

Shooting him a sneer, Sev jerked his hand out from under Mr. Simmons' shoe, and flipped up his goggles. "I must have been going too fast for your old-man eyes, Mr. Simmons," he said, pulling his cap off, and shaking his head. "I did all that, plus the warm-down."

"You— liar," Mr. Simmons said with a surprised laugh. "Did you, really?"

Sev shrugged, and pulled himself out of the pool. Standing up on the warm cement of the pool deck, he was irked to realize that Mr. Simmons was taller than he was. Sev's eyes trailed down to see Mr. Simmons' salmon colored polo shirt stretched over his bulging muscles, and his blonde hair glistened in the sun. Jesus, was he a fucking Ken doll?

"Are you sizing me up?"

Blinking, Sev's eyes met Mr. Simmons'. "What?"

Mr. Simmons seemed amused, tilting his head. "I've had my fair share of fights, Barton, I know when a guy is sizing me up."

For a moment, the only thing that was heard was the splashing and yelling of Sev's teammates. Sev felt … very awkward. Somehow, the thought bubbled up that if he let this conversation go down anywhere other than 'haha, just kidding', then it would get to Mr. Duarte and Mr. Duarte would never speak to him again, let alone let Sev order him around and shit. Sev wracked his head for a smooth response.

"I bet you kicked a lot of ass," Sev said, stretching an arm across his chest. Redirect using flattery— with a quirk of his lip, Sev wondered if Mr. Duarte would be proud of him.

Mr. Simmons let out a raucous laugh, deep and amused. It grated on Sev's brain. This man, who Sev never really had an opinion about one way or the other for the past three years, was suddenly the most fucking annoying thing in Sev's life. He was worse than fucking Janey, who at least caredabout Finch.

Sev would never be able to erase the image of Mr. Duarte clinging so desperately to Mr. Simmons' sides, kneeling on the ground with his feet tucked under him, and brushing incessantly at his tear-stained cheeks. Yes, he had been crying. Without being paddled, without being belted or switched or whatever the hell else. Mr. Simmons had said a few quiet words, that Sev wasn't able to hear through the glass, and that's all it took.

Arrogant, manipulative, lying, iron-willed Mr. Duarte. He had his lips wrapped around Mr. Simmons' cock, and Sev could tell that Mr. Duarte put everything he had into that moment, into making Mr. Simmons feel good.

Sev sighed, and glanced at the locker rooms. "Class … " he said noncommittally, rubbing the back of his neck. There were guys clambering out of the pool now, shoving each other and laughing and complaining about having to get up so early to go to morning practice. Sev caught Darren staring at him, and nodded towards the locker room.

"That's uh, art class, then?"

Sev looked back around. He wondered if the startled expression on his face was too obvious. But Mr. Simmons … looked pretty innocuous, standing there with an affable grin and raised eyebrows. He had his tree trunk arms folded over his chest, and with a sigh, he shook his head. "Caleb is a piece of work."

Sev fuzzed out for a moment, and then came back. There was literally nothing in the entire extent of his brain power that could give him a response to Mr. Simmons. He couldn't even tell if that had been a loaded sentence, or if Mr. Simmons was just saying random shit, or … what. Sev had no fucking clue. Caleb was a piece of work? Caleb …

Sev exhaled, and then, as he narrowed his eyes, he smirked. "I know that."

Mr. Simmons mouth had been open, as if he was about to say something else, but it shut and his head drew back, his eyebrows rising. Sev fought a grimace, and kept his smirk plastered on as well as he could. Mr. Duarte was going to kill him.

Because Sev had said "I know that"like, I know him, or, I know him better than you do, or, Fuck you, it's only a matter of time before he's kneeling down at my feet instead of yours, asshole.

That kind of tone was hard to miss, and Mr. Simmons was staring at him with a little more than vague interest. "Yeah... " Mr. Simmons said, drawing out the word with a chuckle, "He's been like that since we were your age."

Sev shifted on his feet, snapping the waist of his speedo with a tight flick. They had known each other since they were his age? ...Or maybe it was longer than that. Sev let out a sigh, and pushed his hair back, his gaze moving to the side. He wanted to go to Mr. Duarte, and ask. No, demand. He wanted to demand an answer.

"Caleb's always kind of walked to the beat of his own drum."

Caleb. Caleb. Caleb. Stop using his fucking name— when Sev wasn't allowed to. Shit, this was annoying. Sev's expression pinched, and he squeezed his hips to keep from clenching his fists. Why was Mr. Simmons even yammering on about Mr. Duarte?

"But," Mr. Simmons said, drawing out the word, "It seems like you're getting along pretty well with him lately?"

Sev studied the spreading wet spot at his feet, pool water still dripping down his legs. "Uh, not really," he said, and forced a snort. He crossed his arms, with his chin tucked down for a moment, and frowned. "Actually..." he said, and looked up to meet Mr. Simmons' eyes. "Yeah." Sev scratched his chest, and shrugged. "He's a cool guy."

"A cool guy, huh?" Mr. Simmons said with a bemused smile. Sev shrugged again.

"I have to get to class," Sev said, gesturing towards the lockers. The corner of Mr. Simmons' lip curled upwards and he nodded with a curt shake of his head. Sev turned around, and tried not to seem like he wasn't overthinking every movement he made, but he was sure he was walking too stiffly, his arms swinging in rigid jerks.

Had Mr. Simmons had noticed something was going on? He was taking a keen interest in Sev's opinion of Mr. Duarte, which was too weird. Sev frowned, wondering if he should warn Mr. Duarte about the conversation.

With a sigh, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Had he fucked up?

''''

A juice box sailed overhead, and exploded against the ground with a gross splat. A shout of annoyance followed, and Sev glanced over his shoulder. A couple of freshman were shoving at each other, one grousing about his wasted juice. Sev watched with amusement, shoving tater-tots in his mouth and chewing absent-mindedly.

He turned to Janey. "Was I that stupid as a freshman?" he asked, bits of potato flying out of his grinning mouth.

Janey tapped her fork down on the table, cocking an eyebrow. "You really want me to answer that?"

Snorting, Sev shook his head, and hunched over his tray to finish off the rest of his lunch. He could hear Janey still tapping her fork, but he didn't mind it. He was starting to not mind Janey at all, actually. And with Finch spending more and more time with the college adviser, they were kind of stuck together.

He could have hung out with the swim team. The thought had occurred to him several times— every time he strolled down the lunch line. But each day, he turned away from the mob of jocks and cheerleaders, and joined Janey at her small table at the corner of the quad.

The tapping stopped. "Hey, Sev," Janey said. Her chin was resting on her palm, making her words come out slightly mashed.

"Yeah?"

"Mmm," Janey replied, "How's it going?"

He looked up at her. "Why?"

"Why?" she echoed, with a small smile. "Just askin'." When Sev continued to stare at her with a suspicious frown, she sighed. "Did you ever impress that adult?"

Sev dropped his last tater-tot on his tray, and wiped his hands on his jeans. "I'm not gonna quit school, if that's what you're worried about."

"No," Janey replied, "I didn't think that. But you went back to the swim team, and you're not smoking anymore, so I figured you had decided to go for it."

Sev scratched under his chin, his eyes trained on a fly twitching across the remnants of his lunch. He wished Janey wasn't so nosey. He wished even more that her nosiness was because she was a bitch, but Sev knew that wasn't true. He also knew that she wouldn't let this go, so he should probably stop stalling. "Yeah," he said with a shrug.

A breath of surprise escaped Janey's lips. "Wow," she said giggling, "Is it like a crush? Who is she?"

"Not— " Sev said, his head dropping to the side. "You don't know her."

Janey stared at him expectantly. He groaned, pushing his hair back behind his ears. "You don't, ok? She's from the city."

"Like college?"

"Like … " Sev trailed off. "Past college."

Janey gave him a look. "You're not going to make this easy for me are you?" Before Sev could answer, her eyes widened and she snapped her fingers. "Oh my god, it's a teacher!"

And then Sev stared at her, mouth-gaping before he had the self-awareness to shut it. He swallowed, and shook his head. "Uh, no … not … "

"What's a teacher?"

Both Sev and Janey looked up to see Finch standing over them, backpack slung over one shoulder. He was frowning, his eyes zeroed in on Sev. Sev was slightly taken aback by the harshness in Finch's tone, and he broke eye contact before Finch did. This was getting out of control.

Janey quickly said "Nothing!", and took a sip from her water, her face blank with innocence. Sev stared at her. Like that would convince anyone. She shot back an embarrassed grin, and pushed herself up from the table. With a laugh, she said, "I have to meet some people for a group project before class."

Watching her walk away, Sev glowered. That bitch.

"Sev," Finch said, drawing Sev's attention away from Janey. Finch sat down, dropping his backpack on the table. "What about a teacher?"

Finch was a serious person normally, but still, Sev was unsettled by the total lack of humor in his voice. For a moment, Sev kept his lips pressed in a tight line, his gaze down towards the table. He picked at the styrofoam of his tray, shredding it into little pieces. "We were just messing around," he said finally. "I think … " He searched for a name, any name other than Duarte. "Mr. Simmons is hot."

What.

After a beat, Finch raised his eyebrows. "Janey knows you're gay?"

Sev was still stuck in a mortified paralysis from calling Mr. Simmons hot, but he shook it off with a few rapid blinks. First off, he was pretty sure that not even he and Finch had ever talked about Sev being gay, not after that one horrible, and awkward conversation. Did this really have to be the first time they brought it up?

"Uh," Sev said, "No." He shot Finch a sheepish grin, and nervously tucked his hair behind his ears. He really did not want to be having this conversation.

Finch licked his lips, as if he was mulling something over. Finally, he crossed his arms, and leaned back against his chair. "Are you trying to sleep with Mr. Duarte?"

Sev could only imagine what his face looked like from the way Finch's expression darkened. Finch leaned forward, pressing his palm on the table. "Sev, he's a teacher. Just because he's the one gay person you know, you shouldn't be trying to sleep with him."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Sev replied, his eyebrows drawing together. He felt a flicker of annoyance at Finch's pious tone. "I'm not."

"You've been obvious about it," Finch said, "You go to the art classroom at lunch, after school—"

"When I was smoking!" Sev cut in with a yelp.

"—you've been acting like a teacher's pet lately," Finch continued. "And that's not like you at all."

Feeling cornered, Sev's jaw tightened. "You're so fucking amazing," he snarled. "You think because you knew that I liked you, that you've got me all figured out. Why the fuck would I go after Mr. Duarte? It's not that hard to find fags, I could just go to the city!"

"Because," Finch replied calmly, "You stare at him all the time."

Sev didn't know his hands were clenched in fists until he looked down and saw his white knuckles. Forcing himself to relax, he unfurled his fingers to see the red lines left from his nails. "Fuck," he hissed. He breathed out. "Look," he said, "It's none of your goddamn business. You don't want me, you want her. So, at least leave me alone."

He shoved away from the table, propelling himself up, and grabbed his backpack with a jerk. "You don't know shit, Finch."

''''

He heard them before he saw them. It was because Mr. Duarte was yelling.

Sev had jogged around the back of the school, and jumped the wall to the patio. His plan, really, was to just chill on the couch. There was no intention of seeing Mr. Duarte, because it wasn't like Sev needed to see Duarte. It wasn't like he wanted to talk to him, or anything. They weren't friends.

Barely even reaching the couch, Sev heard a frustrated shout, and he dropped. He inched closer, slowly creeping up onto the couch. He pressed his nose against the window, and wasn't the least bit surprised when he saw Mr. Duarte and Mr. Simmons. They standing a few yards apart, facing each other. Mr. Simmons looked calm, with his arms crossed. Mr. Duarte looked … upset.

"You can't go," Mr. Duarte said, his voice shaking, "I won't fucking allow it!"

"Allow it?" Mr. Simmons replied, chuckling. "How would you stop me, Caleb?"

Mr. Duarte let out another shout of frustration. Sheets of paper, which Sev was pretty sure were student paintings, ripped violently in Mr. Duarte's hands, and he chucked them at the ground. They fluttered down ineffectually. He stared at them. "Oh, god." he breathed, and then a low, hurt wail escaped his lips.

Sev felt his heart clench. He dug his nails into the couch.

"Come on, Caleb," Mr. Simmons said. "Don't be dramatic. You sound like a pussy. You knew how it was going to be."

"I just don't understand," Mr. Duarte replied, wiping at the tears streaming down his face. "You said you wanted to live with me, you ask me to blow you. I...I don't understand."

Mr. Simmons snorted. "You understand fine. A free blowjob from a hot mouth is different than having to look at a dick, Caleb."

Drawing back, Sev nearly fell off the couch. Did that mean?

"Please," Mr. Duarte said, his voice dropping so low, Sev could barely hear it. Mr. Duarte reached forward, grabbing at Mr. Simmons arms. "Please, don't go with her tonight. You go every night. You don't come back."

Mr. Simmons dislodged him with a gentle hand, and Mr. Duarte fell back a step on wobbly legs. "I always come back," Mr. Simmons said, his mouth curving into a sickeningly warm smile. "These bitches never last long, do they, Caleb? It's always us in the end." He reached forward and ruffled Mr. Duarte's hair. "I promised, didn't I? I'll always look out for you."

To Sev's utter disbelief, Mr. Duarte nodded meekly. "Yes," he said, "Ok." He bit his lip, his gaze to the side. Mr. Simmons considered him for a moment, and then chuckled. He reached forward, drawing Mr. Duarte into his arms, enclosing him in a tight hug. They stayed like that for a moment, and Sev felt his stomach twist at the way Mr. Duarte relaxed into Mr. Simmons embrace.

Pulling away, Mr. Duarte gave him what could only be classified as a brave smile, and then gave him a playful shove. "I'll see you later tonight?"

Mr. Simmons merely hummed noncommittally, and turned to leave. When the door shut behind him, Mr. Duarte slowly sank into one of the classroom chairs. Sev watched him— the way his shoulders trembled, and how he held his face in his hands. He let out a wracked sob.

The pit of Sev's stomach froze over. He shoved away from the couch, and slammed his way into the classroom. His heart was thudding painfully against his chest. He stood there, staring at Mr. Duarte.

"He's straight?" Sev spat, his nerves vibrating.

Mr. Duarte jerked around, and Sev felt satisfied by his wide eyes. "Sev," Mr. Duarte began, but Sev slammed his fist down on the art table. Mr. Duarte flinched.

"He's straight," Sev repeated, "but you let him fuck your mouth. Because why? What stupid fucking reason would you let that asshole—" Sev paused, his eyes burning, anger soaking into his brain. "What's wrong with you? You're supposed to be … you're supposed to be cool, and smarter than— he's a fucking douchebag frat boy!"

Breathing heavily, Sev came to an abrupt stop. Mr. Duarte's face was slick with tears. He looked ready to collapse. "Fuck!" Sev screamed. "Get rid of him, Mr. Duarte!"

Mr. Duarte stared at Sev. Slowly, his expression twisted into something ugly. "Fuck you, Sev," he said, standing up. He kept one hand on his chair, keeping himself steady. "This is none of your business. How many times do I have to tell you?"

Sev considered him, and then chuckled. Mr. Duarte's expression flickered with confusion. "None of my business?" Sev replied, bitter amusement lacing his tone. "You suck cock at school, you hit yourself with a belt at school. You have demented non-lover's spats at school. What makes you think you have any right to say it's none of my business?"

He jabbed a finger at Mr. Duarte. "Both of you, both you and Mr. Simmons are selfish losers."

Mr. Duarte stared back, his expression smoothing out. There was was a depth to his gaze that Sev couldn't read, and he was irked because of it. For a moment, it almost seemed as if Mr. Duarte wanted to ask him something. The moment passed. Crossing his arms, Mr. Duarte tilted his head, his eyes narrowing.

"Not all of us get Finches, Sev," he said finally, lips thinning into a stubborn line. "Now, if you have no reason for being here … "

Sev took the hint and left.

''''

Three loops around the school's track had done nothing but make Sev drip with sweat. He had never felt so keyed up in his life. Energy was flooding his system, making him restless. He tore his shirt off, and took off down the track again. Running should be taking the edge off, but with each thud of his sneakers on the pavement, his frustration only grew.

That stubborn curve to Mr. Duarte's lips. Defiance.

Sev could barely tolerate it. He wouldn't tolerate it.

Switching directions, he sped to the back of the school. With one fluid movement, he jumped the wall again, his feet landing firmly on the ground. He could see Mr. Duarte's silhouette through the tinted windows. He took a step forward, his hand going to his belt buckle.

Unclasping the buckle, he slid the belt out of the pant loops. He coiled it around his hand, squeezing the leather in his grip. He kept watching Mr. Duarte, and moved towards the door. Silently, he slipped inside, letting the click of the latch be Mr. Duarte's only warning.

Mr. Duarte looked up, one hand still holding up a painting. His eyes widened.

Sev knew what he looked like to Mr. Duarte. He knew what he was implying. He stood there, shirtless, a line of sweat dripping down his toned abdomen, his expression flat and humorless. He let a coil of the belt fall, and it swung threateningly in the air. "Mr. Duarte," he said, his voice low, "Get into position."

Mr. Duarte's eyes narrowed. He set down the painting, and crossed his arms. "Excuse me?"

"No," Sev replied, the corner of his lip curling. "Your shit has gone on long enough. You are not excused. You are not fucking getting out of this."

Finally, finally, there was a flicker of interest in those brown eyes. "Are you saying I don't have a choice?"

Sev let out a sharp laugh. "I'm saying I gave you too much fucking credit. You're a brat, so of course you would never come to me for discipline. Too much stupid, useless pride." Sev considered the belt, pulling the end and tightening the coil around his hand, the leather creaking. "Why I thought you would choose what's best for you on your own— who knows."

He looked up at Mr. Duarte. "So, you have a choice. One— choice."

He didn't miss the subtle curve of a smile. It pissed him off, frankly, that Mr. Duarte was waiting for something like this. But they would hash that out later. He nodded towards the table. "Get into position. I won't say it again."

Mr. Duarte held his hands up with an obnoxious "Yes, sir!" He seemed amused more than anything else. He pushed the paintings down the table, clearing a spot. Then, he kind of half-assedly splayed himself over the edge of the table.

Snorting, Sev crossed the room. He dropped the belt on the table, the metal of of the buckle landing with a heavy click. "You really are a brat," he breathed. Raising his hand up, he landed a solid blow against Mr. Duarte's ass. Satisfied with the way Mr. Duarte suddenly tensed, Sev leaned over him, shoving his hands under Mr. Duarte's hips.

He undid the fly, dragging the zipper down. He could feel Mr. Duarte's heartbeat picking up—Good. With a swift jerk, he tugged Mr. Duarte's pants and briefs down, the clothing piling at his ankles. "Alright," Sev said, leaning up to survey his handy work. "That's more like it."

Mr. Duarte was bent over the table, his pastel sweater vest riding up his back. His ass was completely exposed, pale and pert. He had one arm bent under him, hiding his face in the crook of the other. Smirking, Sev laid in another smack, and Mr. Duarte hissed. It was a nice sound.

Sev stepped away from Mr. Duarte. "You guys really are ridiculous," he said with an exasperated breath, turning the lock on the classroom door. He strode back to the patio side of the classroom, and pulled the shades across the windows. "You're lucky I'm the only one who's ever walked in on this shit."

"Lucky?" Mr. Duarte drawled, from his place bent over the table.

Sev couldn't help but laugh. He walked back over to Mr. Duarte, and slid a hand up his back. He felt Mr. Duarte tense at the gentle touch, and he pulled his hand back with a frown. He was a little miffed at the rejection, but what else could he expect? He picked the belt up, sliding it across his palm. It wasn't too wide, but it definitely wasn't thin. The leather was supple, misleadingly soft.

So— he was really going to hit another person with a belt. He remembered how initially the thought made him nauseous, when Mr. Duarte first mentioned strapping. Even now, when Sev looked at Mr. Duarte's unmarked skin, pink and vulnerable, he found the idea a little daunting.

He coiled the belt around his hand, leaving enough length to reach across Mr. Duarte's ass, but short enough that it wouldn't be unwieldy. He looked at Mr. Duarte. "Lift your ass more."

Arching his back down, Mr. Duarte positioned his bottom higher. The image of it made Sev's breath hitch. He looked away for a moment, breathing slowly to calm his nerves. After a moment, he bit his lip, and took a spot at Mr. Duarte side. He rolled forward with an upward thrust of his arm, but his hand had been shaking. The tip of the belt landed on Mr. Duarte's ass with a snap.

Sev heard Mr. Duarte curse under his breath. He stared at the red mark.

Shit. He knew that was wrong. He waited, expecting Mr. Duarte to ream him for messing up, hitting with the tip of the belt. Nothing came.

Mr. Duarte wasn't going to say anything. He was going to just keep letting Sev fuck things up. The thought made Sev furious, and for a moment, he considered doing just that. The moment passed, and he slammed the belt down on the table. "Hey, fucker," he said, "You're a grade-a douchebag, you know that?"

When Mr. Duarte didn't respond, Sev brought his hand down so fast on Mr. Duarte's ass, it made a loud crack as it landed. He fisted Mr. Duarte's shirt, and spanked him again, harder. "You think I'm a moron?" he breathed, raining down smack after smack. Mr. Duarte's hands closed to fists, and he pressed them against his ears. Sev grinned.

"What did you think?" he asked, his voice dancing, "That I would freak out after messing up?"

Mr. Duarte groaned, reaching back to cover his ass. Sev grabbed Mr. Duarte's wrist, and held it firmly against his back. Connecting another blow on that firm ass, Sev let out a 'whoop!', and started spanking with a firm rhythm.

"Nnn!" Mr. Duarte protested through clenched teeth. He was forced to buck forward with each slap, his skin turning bright read. "God!" he yelled, when Sev landed a particularly harsh blow.

"What was it that you said before, brat?" Sev asked, "A few weak swats from a kid? Yet, somehow, you're squealing now, aren't ya?" His voice was thick with satisfaction, his lips curled in a wicked smirk.

Mr. Duarte was wriggling under his grip, his cheek pressed against the table. Sev could see how flushed the back of his ear was. A warmth pooled in Sev's gut, and he let himself admit that he enjoyed each delicious smack on Mr. Duarte's tender ass. Every slap earned him another uncomfortable whimper, or a frustrated whine. He licked his lips, wanting more.

"This is the only way you learn, huh?" he asked. He started a succession of slaps, going from cheek to cheek, the sound of his palm snapping against Mr. Duarte's ass. The more agitated Mr. Duarte got, the more calm Sev felt. This stubborn man in front of him needed the steady influence of Sev's hand. Sev would give it to him.

"Please," Mr. Duarte said, his voice breathless and tight. He reached around desperately with his free hand, trying to cover his ass again. Sev shook his head, and quickly wrapped his hand around both of Mr. Duarte's wrists.

"Seems like a few weak swats from a kid work well enough," he said. He leaned forward, and whispered in Mr. Duarte's ear, "Not that you're gonna escape my belt. It's inevitable, Mr. Duarte. You're gonna learn your lesson well and good."

He smirked when Mr. Duarte shivered. "And to think you put up such a fight. You should have let me do this sooner, Mr. Duarte."

Straightening up, his eyes narrowed with delight at the obstinate glare Mr. Duarte shot him. Enough talk. He bore his weight down on Mr. Duarte's wrists, and started slapping his ass with an intense ferocity. Mr. Duarte's breathy whines turned into sharp pleads for Sev to stop. His eyebrows knitted together, his face red. Sev could see a few tear drops land on the table.

Sev knew when Mr. Duarte broke. His entire body stopped moving. He went completely pliant, his breaths coming in slow intervals as he rocked forward with each spanking. He wasn't even cringing anymore. He had accepted what was happening to him.

Stopping, Sev tilted his head with a smile. He slid his hand up Mr. Duarte's back, leaning forward again. "Feeling better, Mr. Duarte?"

Mr. Duarte mumbled something. Breathing out with amusement, Sev lifted his hand, and brought it down firmly on Mr. Duarte's flushed, red ass. Mr. Duarte whimpered, and pressed his knuckles against the bridge his nose.

"Speak clearly," Sev said, landing a lighter, mocking swat.

Breathing out, Mr. Duarte closed his eyes. "Use … " he said, trailing off. Sev spanked him again, and he groaned. "Use Caleb."

Sev froze for a moment, and almost made the mistake of asking 'what?'. Without thinking, he rubbed a gentle hand against Mr— Caleb's bottom. The skin was hot to his touch. "Good," he said, finally. "Good boy, Caleb."

He saw Caleb relax, the tenseness in his shoulders loosening. Sev breathed out, feeling somehow ecstatic and content at the same time.

Bringing his hand up, he paused. He was distracted by the heat pooling in his stomach, and then... he realized it wasn't his stomach. Glancing down, his eyes widened, his fingers curling into his palm. He was hard. Seeing it brought on full realization, and he felt it— it hit him like a freight train.

He glanced at Caleb, curled on the table, his ass red. He looked so docile, but relaxed, too. His arms had fallen to his sides, loose and boneless. He was breathing softly, his pink lips parted, his glasses completely askew.

Desire.

Swallowing, Sev backed up a step, and he stumbled on a chair. He grimaced when he saw Caleb bending up on an elbow to look around. Sev jumped on immediate instinct, and brought his palm down on Caleb's ass with a resounding smack. Caleb whimpered, and collapsed back down on the table. "Did I say you could get up?" Sev asked, forcing the panic from his voice.

"No," Caleb replied.

Sev stuffed his fist in his mouth. He was sporting a rock-hard erection. He could not let Caleb see it. That would ruin everything.

Sev dropped his fist. "Go to stand in the corner."

"What?" Caleb replied dubiously, but his voice was still shaky. Sev bit his lip, and grabbed Caleb's shirt again. Without a single warning, he started raining down spanks at a harsh pace, Caleb's ass rippling with each smack. "Go. To. The. Corner." Sev said, accenting each word with a stinging blow.

"Yes!" Caleb breathed. He groaned with pain, trying to curl away from Sev's grip. "Yes, sir."

Sev propelled himself away from Caleb, and turned. He listened carefully to Caleb's footsteps until they moved to the corner of the room. After waiting another second, just to be safe, he turned back around.

Which didn't help. At all. The sight of Caleb standing face to the corner, his ears flushing with shame, and his red ass bare to the world sent an electric shock straight to Sev's groin. He had tamed Caleb. He had gotten what he wanted, to spank him and teach him a lesson! Sev fell down on one of the classroom chairs, and considered his obvious hard-on. Why now? Why the fuck couldn't it have been enough.

With a sigh, Sev leaned his elbow on the table and rested his forehead against his stinging palm. He lifted his eyes to Caleb, considering him with a small frown. Well— it would take a lot to convince that stubborn asshole to sleep with him.

But, if anything, Sev was persistent.


	8. Chapter 8

Sev sat bent forward in his chair, his forehead resting on his palms. Mr—Caleb hadn't said anything since Sev sent him to the corner, and Sev was trying his hardest not to look up. First and foremost, he needed his raging teenage hormones to give him a break. "Please go down," he whispered to his lap.

"What?"

Scrunching his eyes shut, Sev gritted his teeth in an embarrassed grin, and rubbed his face. "Be quiet," he snapped, "I didn't say you could talk."

Venturing a glance up, he saw that Caleb was still faced towards the corner, his ears flushed red. Sev exhaled, gripping his knees. Hopefully Caleb liked being ordered around, because that was a huge ass gamble Sev just took. He could feel it, one wrong word and Caleb would be shoving him out of the classroom, and never letting him back in again.

Licking his lips, he nervously got to his feet. Even the hard-on wasn't enough of a deterrent to keep him from moving closer to Caleb, inching towards his rigid form, his straight back. He had his head bowed towards the corner, and Sev's eyes moved down slowly to the bright red slopes of Caleb's ass. He reached out, and even before he touched skin, he could feel the radiating warmth.

He slid as close as he could without pressing his chest against Caleb's back, bracing his arm on the wall. With a gulp, he palmed Caleb's ass cheek, giving it a firm rub.

Caleb flinched at the touch, jerking back against Sev. "What are you doing?"

"Shh," Sev whispered into Caleb's ear. His heart was thudding against his chest. He gripped a little harder, digging his fingers into Caleb's supple ass, earning a low hiss. "I just want to feel what I did to you." It took every ounce of free will not to start sucking on the back of Caleb's neck, to not start thrusting against him.

Instead, he kept rubbing, one cheek and then the other. Not exactly helping with killing his boner, but Caleb hadn't punched him in the face yet, so Sev was going to take whatever amount of time he had to fondle the cute ass in front of him.

"Besides," he said a little breathlessly, "Doesn't this make the soreness feel better? I'm supposed to take care of you, right? Aftercare?"

A beat of silence passed, and then Caleb snorted. "You really did your research." Dropping his head more, he seemed to think for a moment, before trying to elbow Sev away. Sev scowled, letting out a sharp 'tsk'. Grabbing Caleb's arm, he landed a terse smack against his ass, the red skin rippling. Caleb flinched again, but Sev shoved him back into the corner. "Be good."

Caleb froze for a moment, his arms pressed up against the wall, then he drew in a long breath and dropped his forehead against his arms. "Get away from me."

"Caleb—"

"No." Caleb cut in, "It's over. This is over." He started cursing under his breath, his fingers curling into his palms. "You're a fucking student."

Sev felt his stomach clench, and he reached to grab Caleb again, but then he stopped. With a snort, he backed away. "That's precious," he said, walking back over to the table he had spanked Caleb on. He reached down, and grabbed Caleb's pants.

There was a pause, and then, "What?"

"Let me guess," Sev said, turning around to face Caleb. He smirked at the suspicious look in Caleb's eyes. "I have to go back to calling you Mr. Duarte, too, huh?"

Caleb's hands clenched, and then he pointed at Sev. "You—" But Sev just laughed, and tossed the pants at his chest. Catching them with a surprised jerk, Caleb blinked, staring wide-eyed at Sev as his fingers slowly clawed into the wadded up pile of clothes in his hands.

"Well, sure thing, Mr. Duarte," Sev said, and did a mock salute. "I can do that."

He danced closer, pushing his luck, crowding Caleb against the wall, leaning in and just completely taking over Caleb's personal space. It must have been humiliating—Caleb was still naked from the waist down. "But the thing is," Sev said, smirking, "I know how it is now, you just like playing hard to get."

Caleb narrowed his eyes, drawing back as far as he could from Sev. Which wasn't very far at all. "Excuse me?"

"You keep saying no, no, no," Sev said, his voice lilting playfully, "But that's just part of your game, isn't it? I already know, when you want it—when you really want to be dominated, you stop being all prissy, and you bend over because you need it. You want me to put you in your place."

God, he wanted to kiss Mr. Duarte...Caleb. He wanted to, uh, conquer, he wanted to rule over him. Caress his cheek, at least. But even more, he wanted Caleb trembling in his arms, to just stop pretending that he was so pissy. When he's with Mr. Simmons, he's so docile and lovely, and wanting to serve. But with Sev, he's just... an asshole.

"God, Mr. Duarte," Sev whispered, but his words trailed off. He could see something dawning in Caleb's eyes. They widened, and for the first time, Sev thought he saw real fear.

"Sev," Caleb said, clearing his throat, "You need to get away from me. Right now." He was clutching his pants close to his chest.

Sev stared, his eyes hooded, frown weighing down his lips. What would happen if he kissed Caleb right then? Caleb was already...spanked, he was still off-kilter, he wasn't fully—didn't have his defenses up. And Sev was so aroused at that thought, that he was able to do that to Caleb. He moved closer, taking in Caleb's wide brown eyes, his parted lips and curly brown hair. He was so cute, and Sev wanted to kiss him. Badly.

"Yeah, alright," Sev muttered, backing away. "I was just fucking with you." He glanced down, realizing he was still shirtless, and then a second perspective—Caleb's—occurred to him, of Sev cornering him and they were both half-naked, and really, Caleb must have seen the desperation in Sev's eyes, the hunger.

"Shit." He stepped back even more, nearly stumbling on a chair. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I was just—caught up, you know. With the rush."

"Sure," Caleb replied faintly, slipping into his pants. He was moving slowly, seeming to gather himself. He smacked his forehead, sliding his hand up through his hair, all the way to the back of his neck. "Sev," he said, and there was that teacher-voice again. "I just broke so many rules—laws, god, I just..."

"You probably didn't break anything," Sev said after a second, shrugging. "I'm eighteen, remember?"

Snorting, Caleb shook his head, tossing his hand out at Sev dismissively. "This really is the last time," he said, and his words were so weak that even he laughed at them.

"I won't force it again," Sev replied, and Caleb looked up at him. "I mean, you fucking needed that because you're a grade-A prick, but next time you'll have to beg for it."

Going against Sev's expectations, Caleb let out a small, breathy laugh. He leaned back against the wall, wiping his palms down his face. "Can't you just wait?" he said suddenly. "Can't you just—graduate, and go to college, and find some other kid your own age and maybe he'll let you slap his ass a little. But can't you wait? And leave me alone."

No, Sev thought, there was no way in hell he was going to do that. "What would that kid need to be spanked for?" Sev replied, stuffing his hands in his pockets, and leaning forward with a quirked eyebrow and a smirk. "It's you, Mr. Duarte, you're the one who needs it, I see the way you want it from—" From Mr. Simmons. Sev swallowed and leaned back.

Caleb had already caught his drift. "He doesn't know about this," he said flatly. "What would be the point?"

Sev stared at him. "Aren't you lonely?"

He saw the flicker, the hesitation. Caleb was a smart guy, smarter than Sev, anyway. He knew, he had to know how useless it was to cling on to Mr. Simmons, when Mr. Simmons was straight. Caleb spent all his time acting perfect and strong around everyone else, but he showed his weaknesses to someone who could never give him what he wanted. It was frustrating.

The weakness had retreated. Caleb's expression was veiled. "You need to drop this," he said tightly, "You need to leave me alone."

"Because you can't say no?" Sev replied, like a smart-ass.

Caleb's eyes narrowed, and he worked his jaw. But then he exhaled. "Obviously, yes."

Not knowing how to reply, not knowing what that meant, Sev stared at him. "I won't leave you alone," he said, his words shaky at first, but gaining confidence. "You—" Sev swallowed again, "are so messed up. You're so unhappy and you don't even know it. Mr. Simmons will never give you what you want."

He saw something snap behind Caleb's resolve. "And you will?"

Sev squared his shoulders, keeping himself steady. "At least I try, you know? At least I want to give you the things you need, instead of fucking take, take, take, which is what Mr. Simmons does. He doesn't give a shit at all. Just as long as he can get off."

For a moment, Sev couldn't believe what he was seeing, but then he knew for certain that there were pinpricks of tears in the corners of Caleb's eyes, just threatening to fall down. "Like you know," Caleb spat out bitterly, "Like you, Sev Barton, teenager who will graduate and move on and forget about everything that happened here—like you could ever know what it is that John gives to me."

John. Sev felt bile rise in his stomach at the name. So familiar, so...they fucking live together.

"Yeah?" he snapped childishly, "What the fuck does he give you? A cock to suck on? I'll suck yours, Mr. Duarte! I'll fucking—do anything, because I want to. He doesn't want to do jack shit with you."

Sev could have died right then. He could see just how big of a mistake he had made, the widening of Caleb's eyes. "How stupid are you?" Sev said quickly, his voice high. It was too late to turn back, anyway. "You think I just wanted to stop at spanking? I'm a virgin, you know? I want to fuck you. I want to..." he trailed off, realizing how whiny he sounded. "Please, Mr. Duarte."

The horrified expression on Caleb's face was answer enough. Sev looked down, rubbing his knuckles on the art table. "It isn't so—I'm eighteen." He felt like he could say that a hundred times, and it wouldn't change anything.

"Get out," Caleb breathed. "Get out right now."

Sev looked up at him with wet eyes. "You're not right in this." And with that, he fled from the classroom, running all the way home in the burning heat of a dying summer.

'''''

Sev floated languidly at the wall, head tilted back on the concrete as if he wasn't in the middle of practice. He listened to the splashing strokes of his teammates, and closed his eyes, letting the warmth from the sun wash over his face. Any second, he expected Mr. Simmons to start bitching at him, but nothing came. He sighed—it's not like he was looking for a fight, or anything.

Instead, he felt someone push up to the wall next to him, emerging through the surface with a satisfied sigh. "Shit, Sev," Darren said, "one month back and you're already slacking off again."

Sev pried an eye open. "Fuck off."

Laughing, Darren leaned back against the wall next to Sev. "Can you believe the league meet is like a month away? I mean, fuck, there's gonna be college recruiters there and everything."

"Yeah, dude, fuck..." Bored, Sev rolled his head to the side, and froze. Through the pool entrance, Caleb came striding in in his blue pastel sweater vest and corduroy pants. He looked especially nerdy, Sev thought with a grin, dressed like that at a pool.

But the smile faded as Sev watched Caleb approach Mr. Simmons, who was leaning against the guard stand. Mr. Simmons was blowing his whistle, directing some freshmen team members, pointing and gesticulating with a fervor. His good humor was obvious, and Sev snarled at the way Caleb watched him like a tween watching Justin Beiber. It was fucking annoying.

Placing a hand on Mr. Simmons arm, Caleb smiled when he turned to see who it was. And then Mr. Simmons returned the smile, saying something to him.

"Think they're fucking?"

With a jolt, Sev looked around at Darren. "What?"

"Yeah, well, everyone knows they're roommates." Darren said this while making air quotations. "And it's obvious that Mr. Duarte is a fag, I mean come on, but Mr. Simmons..."

"They've been friends since they were kids," Sev replied pointedly. He was about to turn back and watch Mr. Simmons and Caleb again, but Darren's snort caught his attention.

"Friends, huh?" Darren said. He tilted his face towards Sev, lip curling. "Who gives it to who, you think? I would fucking piss myself laughing if Mr. Simmons takes it up the ass." Sev's entire face felt tight, and all he could do was scowl at the water.

"...You alright, man?" Darren was watching him raised eyebrows. Tight-lipped, Sev shrugged and dipped below the surface to cut off the conversation. He pushed off from the wall in a streamline, breaking free from the surface, racing forward in a freestyle stroke. He wondered if Caleb was watching the water. If he was, then he was seeing Sev at his top, slicing through the water at top speed.

He reached the guy ahead of him in the lane, who stopped at the wall just to get out of Sev's way, and did a quick flip turn, his heart starting to thud. If anything, Caleb would finally see that Sev was the best at something besides being able to suck out the last few puffs from a charred joint.

At that thought, he pushed himself as hard as he could, overtaking everyone in the lane and not taking a breath until his lungs were burning. He imagined Caleb staring at him, watching him dominate the pool. Finally, Sev drifted to a stop. He pulled himself out of the water in one slick movement, and walked around the edge to the guard stand. "Hey, Mr. Duarte," he said with a nod and a smirk, flipping his cap off and shaking his hair out.

He wanted to showcase his body. He wanted Caleb to see his fit, swim-toned body in only a speedo. He wanted to see...Caleb want him.

But Caleb was standing close to Mr. Simmons, and he gave that small, polite smile of acknowledgement to Sev, the kind of smile that said he didn't want Sev anywhere near him. "Sev," he said with a nod, crossing his arms. Mr. Simmons barely took part in the exchange—he just kept blowing his whistle and yelling at the freshmen. They looked natural together, and that made Sev's stomach twist.

Which meant, of course, that he had to act without thinking like a fucking idiot, and grab the railing of the guard stand behind Caleb, boxing him in. The petrified widening of his eyes was enough to make Sev want to curl up with self-disgust, but Sev didn't. He just picked at some nonexistent piece of dirt on the railing, making sure to keep his lip curled in a smirk. "Never thought I'd see you at the pool," he said offhandedly, his gaze moving to meet Caleb's.

Mr. Simmons chuckled in front of them, he was still staring out at the pool with his hands on his hips "He's like a cat, huh?"

Sev glanced at Mr. Simmons' back, frowning, and then turned to see Caleb close his eyes, his expression clouding with frustration. He ducked under Sev's arm, walking over to stand by Mr. Simmons. "Why did I need to meet you here?" he hissed under his breath. Watching them, Sev's lips pressed tightly together, his hands balling into fists. Caleb probably just loved how roided out Mr. Simmons' stupid, veiny body looked. It probably turned him on.

Laughing to himself, Mr. Simmons clapped Caleb on the back, keeping a firm grip on his shoulder. Then he blew his whistle, and everyone in the pool came to a stop. "Kids," Mr. Simmons bellowed, "You no longer have to whine to me about parent chaperones. Mr. Duarte here has kindly volunteered to come with us to the league meet."

"Oh, jesus," Caleb muttered as no one reacted. Sev stared at him. Why hadn't he said anything? They would be going on a trip together? Sev imagined spending time with Mr. Duarte away from the school, and licked his lips.

As the moment awkwardly passed, and one by one the rest of the team started up again, splashing down the lanes, Caleb dislodged himself from Mr. Simmons and crossed his arms. "You do know what volunteer means, don't you?"

Mr. Simmons chuckled at him. "Just come," he said good-naturedly, "you'd be lonely the whole weekend without me anyway."

There was a flash in Caleb's eyes, and then they flicked to Sev, and moved away just as quickly. Sev jolted, standing straight. He was pretty sure he had seen embarrassment. "I would not be lonely," Caleb said tightly, leaning in closer to Mr. Simmons. Mr. Simmons gave him a 'sure thing' grin, snorting, and crossed his arms.

Then he looked over his shoulder. "Sev, still standing around? You have time to do another set."

Sev realized he was scowling at Mr. Simmons just a second too late. The grin on Mr. Simmons' face turned more interested, his eyebrow quirking. Glancing down, Sev nodded quickly. "Yeah, yeah," he said, scratching the back of his head.

"Unless there was something you wanted to say to Caleb?"

Fuck you. Sev wanted to throttle Mr. Simmons. Instead, he swallowed, and then forced out a laugh. With a wave, he walked jerkily back to the other end of the pool. God, it was so fucking irritating. Had Mr. Simmons always been such an enormous asshole? Sev gritted his teeth, not bothering with his cap and jumping feet first into the pool.

''''''

"...and then Christa started crying in the middle of class. I mean, really?"

Janey wasn't even really speaking to Sev at that point, he figured. She was munching on Ritz crackers, talking about people Sev didn't give one shit about, and, probably, he could have been a tree stump and it wouldn't matter. But then she glanced up at him. "When are you taking your SATs?"

"Uh.." He started slurping on his Capri Sun.

"Come on, Sev, you are taking them, aren't you? Finch already signed up, we're on the same day. Duront High School, do you know where that it? I think it's the county over."

Sev looked up at her, but tried to seem offhand. "Finch is taking them?"

"Well, yeah." She shot him a curious smile. "Why do you think he's been spending all this time with the college counselor? He's really planning it out."

Frankly, Sev hadn't really spoken to Finch much since he had freakishly zeroed in on Sev's interest in Caleb. But he also hadn't really put much thought into the fact that they were graduating that year...and Finch would be going—Sev looked up. "Where does he want to go?"

Janey paused, and then sighed. "He...We...want to go to UC San Diego."

Sev felt his mouth run dry. "SoCal?"

"Well—" Janey gave him a remorseful smile. "—At least it's the same state?"

"It's seven fucking hours away, Janey!" Sev snapped, standing up. His fists were vibrating, and he was pretty sure if the table wasn't bolted to the cement, he would be flipping it over. "He didn't even fucking tell me once! What the fuck?"

Janey watched him, her smile completely faded. "Did you ever think to ask?" She must have seen the utter crumpled realization on Sev's face, because her expression immediately softened and she held her palms up. "Look, who knows if we'll get in. We're gonna apply for places around here, too."

"Why lie?"

Finch was behind them. He was standing there, hands in his pockets, thoughtful frown on his face. "Sev," he said quietly, "No matter what, we plan on getting away from here, you know? If it isn't San Diego, then it'll be Irvine or Santa Barbara."

"Well, good to know," Sev barked. "Really, thanks for letting me in on those top-secret, confidential plans." Suddenly, he felt surrounded and alone with Janey on one side of him, and Finch on the other. What was worse, was they were both staring at him with something that looked suspiciously like pity. But he was tired of storming off every time Finch pissed him off.

Sev licked his lips. "I could do that, too. Like San Diego State, or something."

Finch's expression turned sad and dubious. "Do you even have the grades for that?"

"Finch!" Janey actually sounded pissed. "Jesus, why are you being such an asshole to him? He just said he wanted to go to school near you."

Lips thinning, Finch glanced away. "Whatever," he muttered. "What am I supposed to do?"

Sev felt his heart thud against his chest. Fingernails pressing into his palms, he took a breath before saying, "Do about what?"

"You know." Finch looked up at him, and Sev saw a storm brewing. "Am I really such an asshole for not wanting you to...like, fucking linger on—" He immediately stopped. "You're my best friend, you know that. But..." He pushed his hand through his hair with frustration. "Dammit, Sev, this is your fault, too. You're supposed to be my best friend. And now I have to take the blame for you trying to hook up with Duarte."

Both Sev and Janey said "What?" at the same time. But then Sev gathered himself. He could see the way Finch and Janey were both waiting for him to say something. Finally, he shrugged. "So? What if I am?"

"Oh, shit," Janey breathed behind him. Finch's expression darkened.

"So what if I am?" Sev repeated, practically yelling. "You know what, Finch? I wanna bend him over a table and fuck him like a dog, how about that?" He sneered. "I wanted to do the same to you."

Oh, how he regretted saying that. Because just then he realized he had confirmed exactly what Finch was so scared of. That Sev couldn't treat him like a regular friend anymore, that there would be something big and homosexual sitting in between them for the rest of their fucking lives. It crushed Sev, because he also thought that he could push that away, he could squish it down and kill it so he didn't have to lose his best friend.

"I'm sorry..." he choked out, but Finch was shaking his head.

"That's—" Finch said roughly. "That's fucking great." He swung around, stomping away. Janey ran after him, not sparing a single glance over her shoulder at Sev.

'''''

The art classroom was empty.

Sev had managed to hold out for the whole entire second half of the school day, and Caleb wasn't even where he was fucking supposed to be. But Sev wanted to talk to him, he—needed to be with someone who understood. The world was closing in on him. And the art classroom was empty.

He darted down the hallways, bursting out the front doors of the school. Kids were milling around, not eager to go home, but not exactly willing to stick around their daily prison. He pushed past them, sprinting for the bike racks.

There were vague thoughts; train, they take the train home. Sev took the first bike he saw without a lock, jumping on and skidding out of the school parking lot. The dusty, rural freeway was clear, thank god, and he sped along at a speed that was probably stupid and fucking dangerous, especially for the idiot not wearing a helmet. His muscles ached, his knuckles turning white where he was gripping the handlebars too hard.

No—he didn't have the grades for that. No—he didn't have the straightness for that. He didn't have anything he need to keep following Finch. He didn't have anything planned for his future. At the very most, he could boast that there was a likely chance he would graduate from high school.

And now he was killing himself to reach the train station so he could talk to Caleb, even though he could just as easily talk to Caleb the next day. There were tears streaming down his face. He was a fucking mess.

Thankfully the tears were wind-whipped away by the time he reached the station. He jumped off the bike, letting it crash to the ground, and jogged with heaving breaths to the tolls. He slipped his wallet out, exhaling with relief when he saw he still had an old, wrinkled pass tucked away. He slipped it though, and ran.

The train was idling up above on the rail, he saw it as he sprinted for the escalator. A fuzzy, almost incomprehensible announcement was blaring that the train was about to depart. Then, he saw.

Caleb and Mr. Simmons were hurrying along, they must have just made it as well. They were close together, and Mr. Simmons had one hand clawed around Caleb's upper arm. His face was red, and he was speaking into Caleb's ear. Sev glared.

Following them up the escalator, he made sure to keep a few yards back. But when the doors dinged, and started closing, he jumped forward and both Mr. Simmons and Caleb looked around at him with wide eyes. "Sorry," he smirked at Mr. Simmons, "But not sorry." He pinched Mr. Simmons' hand, who grimaced and dropped Caleb's arm reflexively.

"Sev—" Caleb said, but was cut off when Sev dragged him out of the train right as the doors closed.

Caleb stood motionless, watching Mr. Simmons practically press his face against the window, gesturing wildly at the two of them as the train pulled away, and he gradually disappeared into the distance. Sev and Caleb were alone on the platform. Caleb was silent, and then he sighed. "What the hell was that?"

Turning to Sev, he paused. And then Sev saw that Caleb's eyes were red, his face blotchy...which was probably around the same exact time that Caleb saw that Sev looked the same.

"Come with me," Sev said. He grabbed Caleb's wrist and started pulling him along. He wasn't expecting the hot rush of relief when Caleb didn't fight him.

They ended up in the station's public restroom, Sev flipping the lock and then turning to see Caleb glancing around with disdain at the puddles and crumpled toilet paper littering the floor. Sev shuffled on his feet. "Sorry."

"About making me miss my train, or dragging me into—" Caleb looked at the toilet. "This."

"Uh, so," Sev sputtered over him, and Caleb looked up with raised eyebrows. Sev swallowed, playing with the edges of his pockets. "I was talking to Finch, and he was talking about going away to college with Janey, and they want to go to SoCal, but I'm failing chemistry, and I didn't think to sign up for the SATs, and, like that even fucking matters, because Finch hates me, because I told him I wanted to fuck him like a dog."

He closed his eyes.

"Oh." There was a tick of silence. "Oh," Caleb repeated, sounding a little amused. "I see."

And then, to Sev's utter bafflement, he felt arms wrap around him tightly, pulling him against warmth and solid chest under soft sweater vest. He sniffled, and the pressed his cheek against Caleb's cheek, and held Caleb even harder than Caleb was holding him. He squeezed, digging his fingers into the back of Caleb's vest. "He's going to hate me forever."

"He won't." A gentle touch brushed over Sev's head, fingers massaging his scalp. "Someone who tries so hard to get over everything he's been taught in life, so he can accept his best friend—someone like that won't hate you."

"I don't want to love him," Sev said quietly. "I want my best friend back."

"Stuff like that needs time to work itself out."

Sev nodded, because he knew that. But he also knew how hard it was to keep friends from high school after graduation, without the added weight of being totally in love with them and trying to get over it. He drooped, resting his head down on Caleb's shoulder, breathing in the light scent of Caleb's cologne. "What did Mr. Simmons say to you, Mr. Duarte?"

He felt Caleb tense. "What?" Caleb asked.

"You were crying."

There was a strained chuckle. "You were crying too."

Sev went silent, as realization slowly dawned that he was holding Caleb tightly in his arms. That Caleb was allowing him to do so. He swayed a little, almost as if they were slow dancing. "Did he say something mean to you, Mr. Duarte?"

He felt a hand on his chest, pushing him away. Caleb was staring up at him with an unreadable expression. Slowly, he backed away, and then he turned to the bathroom sink, and bent over it, resting his weight on the edges. "Teach me a lesson, Sev."

Staring, Sev blinked. His arms were still held out comically, as if he was hugging some bathroom apparition. He opened his mouth to ask what Caleb was doing, but then something ice cold hit the pit of his stomach. He looked down at the ground, eyebrows knitting as the thought seared into his brain.

Caleb only liked to be spanked after talking to Mr. Simmons.

What the fuck was that? Sev knew—god, it was fucking obvious that Caleb doesn't trust Sev, but he asks Sev, he allows Sev to spank him. "Jesus," Sev breathed, "You don't actually like this, do you?"

Caleb turned around, confusion etching his face. "Excuse me?"

"You don't like it, this isn't some kink—" Sev cried, his hands flying around. "What is this? Is it some psychological thing? You need to feel pain because Mr. Simmons rejects you? Or what? Have I been fucking making it worse?"

Caleb stared at him. And then he let out one long sigh, bowing his head to knead his eyebrows. "Sev," he said, his voice cracking with a giggle. "God, you're so..." He shook his head, and looked up. He was smiling gently. "That's really cute that you're worried. But, yes, this is a kink thing for me, and it relieves stress—John causes stress." He quirked an eyebrow. "Do you see where this is going?"

Calming down, Sev nodded. His face flushed with embarrassment.

"And besides," Caleb continued, his voice losing most of its humor. "You should never think I'm the victim in this...situation."

Sev's jerked his gaze up. "I'm not a victim!" He almost said that he was eighteen again, but instead he decided on action. He pushed forward, pressing Caleb back against the sink, clasping the sides, caging Caleb in. Caleb barely had time to voice a protest before Sev stole his lips, licking them before pushing his tongue in.

He hoped he wasn't a bad kisser. Because it felt so good, so hot inside Caleb's mouth. He really hoped Caleb was enjoying the kiss as much as Sev was, that he didn't hate it when Sev wrapped his arms around him, crushing their bodies together.

His heart nearly burst when Caleb moaned, and grabbed onto the back of Sev's shirt, nails digging in. He seemed to curl into Sev, taking some kind of submissive posture that was just killing Sev, it made him hard in instant, his cock throbbing almost painfully. Caleb was panting a little, making soft little cries. Suddenly, it all seemed very unwieldy and Sev was using too much of his focus on not fucking things up, and panicking, and wondering what the fuck to do because Caleb was shuddering in Sev's arms.

Exhaling, Caleb pulled away from him, and pushed his face against Sev's neck. His breath was warm. He slumped a little, and Sev immediately flexed his arms to hold him up.

"Shit," Caleb said breathlessly, his voice a little distant. His head dropped back. Sev watched him closely. He wanted to run his tongue up Caleb's exposed throat. Even more, he wanted Caleb to return Sev's gaze. He wanted their eyes to meet.

But for now, it was fine enough having Caleb securely in his grasp.


	9. Chapter 9

Sev rode the bike he stole back to the school, and then ran home, slamming through the front door without even a hello to his sister, collapsing on his messy bed.

The corners of his mouth hurt from grinning. Curling around on the bed, Sev bunched up the blankets in his hands and yelled into the mattress.

He had slipped Caleb the tongue. There had been twenty minutes until the next train came through, and he had used that as an excuse to push Caleb against the bathroom wall and kiss him stupid. He had even gotten his hand up Caleb's shirt before fingers wrapped around his arm and pulled it away.

Kissing was good. He hadn't put much stock in it before, since his only other experience ever was Kristen Carry in the sixth grade. But kissing was good, it was very good—with Caleb.

Also, Caleb was really good at playing submissive. It made Sev's stomach flop in weird ways to remember how Caleb clung to him and folded in and followed Sev's lead, even though Sev was a very obvious beginner.

"Shit, shit, shit, shit," Sev breathed happily, still grinning, rubbing his face back and forth on his pillow. Maybe he should have pushed Caleb around and spanked him for not letting Sev feel him up, maybe that's what Caleb wanted. Ah, well, Sev thought, there would be other chances.

Reaching down to his pocket, he slipped out his phone and stared at the screen.

He shouldn't have done it, but when Caleb, with a flushed face, had shoved his hipster-y briefcase at Sev because he couldn't stand leaving it on the ground, and told him to wait outside the bathroom and give him a minute, Sev had pulled out Caleb's phone and called his own, quickly storing the number and deleting the call on Caleb's.

And now he was staring at the entry, tapping out Caleb's name, and saving it again. His thumb lingered over the call button, but he slid the lock instead.

"Hey, asshole."

Twisting around, he saw his sister leaning in the doorframe. "Fuck off."

She ignored him, twisting around the straw in her can of diet coke. "Finch dropped by like an hour ago." She blinked, and smiled.

Sev scowled at her. "Yeah, and?"

"Well," she said, "he was looking for you, obviously." She tilted her head. "Where were you?"

When Sev just continued to glare, she said, "He seemed angry."

Sev dropped his gaze, playing with a fold in his blanket.

"I told him you had to run errands for mom."

Looking back up, Sev kept his eyes to the side. "Thanks, Rachel."

"Mhm." She sucked up some coke, and then said, "You've been weird lately."

He stretched out, kicking his shoes off, and shrugged. "Can't help it if he wants to be with Janey over me, you know?" he said lightly. "Even if I would have sucked him off way better she could."

When he looked up carefully, he saw Rachel looking at him under hooded eyelids. The corner of her lip was upturned in a little smile. "Are you testing me?"

Sev shrugged again.

"Don't tell mom right now, it would probably kill her."

Rubbing the back of his head, Sev nodded.

"And Finch knows?"

Sev rubbed his palm down his face, nodding again.

"Wanna watch Queer as Folk with me?"

Sev sat up and lobbed a pillow at her. "Fuck off, Rachel!"

Dodging, she disappeared, her high-pitched laughter trailing all the way down the hallway.

'''''

It took him twenty minutes to skateboard to the Walmart.

He kicked his board up, tucking it under his arm, and walked by the greeter with a nod. It was Mr. Fenderson and the shock on his face at Sev even acknowledging him was enough to make Sev snort. Yeah, usually he would have blown by, flipping the bird, but whatever.

In the Men's clothing section, he pushed a few things back and forth on the rack, not really looking. He picked up a regular tee, but...

His clothes at home showed more skin than not, what with all the tattered holes. He didn't care, it didn't matter, he never really fucking thought about it. Once in awhile, his mom would get fed up with the whole thing and buy him a six pack of Hanes shirts, but he managed to destroy them in a matter of weeks.

But now he was inching towards the shelves of polo shirts. He jabbed at one with his finger, tugging at the collar, his lip curling with disgust.

What would look good next to pastel sweater vests? Not ripped, faded t-shirts.

Sev tried not start grinning again. It kept bubbling up in his mind that Caleb was probably the type who liked dressing his guys. Wanted them to look decent next to him, or something. Besides, if Sev dressed up a bit, he'd probably look a little older. Old enough that maybe Caleb wouldn't feel weird walking around with him...like in the city, or whatever. On a date.

Swallowing, Sev picked up a fitted plaid shirt.

Caleb liked him. And Sev didn't want to look like a fucking slob anymore. He wanted to walk into the art classroom with a new shirt and a new haircut (courtesy of his sister) and show Caleb that those were things Sev wanted to do for him. Did Caleb like these lumberjack shirts?

"Sev?"

Janey was standing out on the aisle with her mom. Sev stared at them owlishly, not thrilled that he had been caught shopping for clothes. And then he remembered what Janey knew, and his lips thinned.

"Hey, uh, mom, I'll catch up with you," Janey said to her mom, and then walked over at Sev, taking a glance at what he was holding. "That doesn't suit you."

He tossed it in a heap on the shelf, and shrugged. "Didn't fucking ask."

"I mean," she said over him, "Button downs would look good, but I don't think that fitted is your type of thing." Sev hedged a glance at her from the corner of his eye, and then touched the polo shirt again. She shook her head and he dropped his hand. "Button downs," she repeated firmly. She picked up a looser light-greyish plaid button down with a collar and rolled up sleeves, holding it to Sev's chest. "Like this, with dark jeans. Also, you don't have stick legs like some guys, Sev, you should wear tighter jeans."

He stared at her. "Are you fucking kidding?"

She shook her head. He grabbed the shirt from her, observing it as if it were a specimen in the bio lab. "Um, Sev..." Janey said quietly, "Are you doing this...to impress..."

"Yeah."

"Oh."

Sev tossed the shirt over his shoulder. "Cool," he said breezily. "What else?"

Shifting on her feet, Janey touched another shirt, but she was frowning. "Um, Sev," she repeated. "Is this really a good idea? You could get him into a lot of trouble, I think. If you're really serious about this."

Lips tightening with defiance, Sev scoffed. "He won't get into trouble, okay? Besides, he likes me."

Janey's gaze jerked up to him, her jaw dropping. "Something's actually happened?"

Shit. Sev stared at her. He quickly shook his head. "No, no. I just meant he likes me as a student, or whatever. Like, now. He used to think I was a shithead, so I kinda had to start from there."

This obviously didn't make Janey feel any better. "I shouldn't be helping you," she sighed. "But..." Trailing off, she ran her hand down another shirt. "Gosh, I almost...I know this is stupid, but now that I know the truth, I feel like a homewrecker." She sniffed, laughing a little. "It's really bad that I want you to focus on Mr. Duarte so Finch won't—I'm not saying he would ever do anything—but even before I knew about you being gay, I always got the feeling that I was just a replacement."

Before Sev could get a "What?" out, Janey suddenly burst into tears.

"What if he turns gay?" she sobbed, hiding her face with her hands. "Shut up, I know people can't turn gay, but what if he's just really closeted or something, like he can't admit it. I never even had the slightest clue you were, so he could be, right? I don't want to lose him to you."

"Uh..." Glancing nervously around the aisles, Sev put his hand on Janey's shoulder. He had never seen her upset before, and now all he could think was that Finch was going to punch his lights out for making her cry. "Janey," he said soberly, "If Finch wanted to do it with me, we would have been jerking eachother off since we were thirteen."

She looked up, wiping at her eyes. "I know," she said softly. She sniffed loudly, and laughed. "You're comforting me, it's really weird. You must really like Mr. Duarte."

"What does that have to do with anything?" Sev replied quickly.

"Well, you never wanted to clean up for Finch."

Sev looked down at the gross Walmart carpeting. He shifted his skateboard from one arm to the other, clearing his throat. "I just think he's kinda cute," he said quietly. When Janey didn't reply, he ventured a glance upwards. She was staring at him, lips parted.

"Oh, jeez," she said. "It's really weird. I would never have guessed you were gay. Not in a million years. And calling a guy cute, oh my god. Does he know? How old is he? I mean, eight to ten year age gaps are kind of sweet, I guess... he doesn't look thirty."

"Ah..." Sev trailed off, but Janey kept talking.

"Oh! Oh, man, Sev. Everyone knows he lives with Mr. Simmons. Are they together? I don't know, Mr. Simmons is pretty hot, and he has a job. What if they're like … what's it called? Civil partners? In a civil union?" She rested her hands on her hips. "You might want to think about that, you know. Gays don't need a bad rep, trying to break up each other's civil unions."

Sev blinked. "Janey..."

"Ah..." she said, with a wave of a hand. "I don't really know what I'm talking about. But they are close, you know?"

Stomach twisting, Sev nodded. "Yeah, I know." But it didn't matter, because Mr. Simmons was straight, and Caleb had let Sev nibble on his lip.

"Want to start a GSA with me?"

Sev actually laughed at that, shaking his head. "Just help me find clothes, k? My sister's gonna cut my hair, she's really good at it. Oh, and uh, tell Finch...tell Finch that—"

"You should talk to Finch," Janey cut in over him, already sifting through more shirts.

"...Yeah." Sev watched her circle around the racks. He knew he had to talk to Finch. He wasn't really dreading it, but he wasn't looking forward to it. At least he could tell Finch that there was nothing to worry about, his ass was safe.

Sev was grinning again. Caleb's ass, on the other hand... Spanked and red. Whimpering cries from Caleb's lips. Coiled muscles and the light scent of sweat. Sev had a lot to look forward to.

Caleb Duarte liked him.

'''''

"Well, you can tell by the way he use' his walk—he's woman's man. No time to talk."

Without even turning around, Sev flipped Darren the bird. Darren laughed, trotting forward to swing an arm around Sev's shoulder as they went up the main steps to the school, Darren singing "Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin alive! Stayin alive!" in a grossly high-pitched voice.

"Fuck off."

Chuckling, Darren tugged at the collar of Sev's button down. "Getting fancy, Barton. Presentation today? Is it Stevenson? That guy is an asshole making us dress up for shit. I mean, for one fucking period, and then the rest of the day we still have to wear this shit."

"Yeah," Sev mumbled, nervously playing with his collar, hoping Darren didn't wrinkle it or something. "It's bullshit."

"Oh, man, did you hear? They chartered a bus for the team. With TVs and shit. We're voting on which movies to watch. Fight Club or The Notebook, which one do you think?"

Sev snorted like Darren wanted him to, but he couldn't focus on what Darren was saying. He was just glad there wasn't practice that morning so his hair wasn't sopping wet when he went to Art first period. "What did the girls want?"

"Oh, who fucking cares." Darren nodded at a swarm of people as they entered the school, and then leaned in conspiratorially towards Sev. "How great is it that Simmons nixed parent chaperones? I mean, he probably knows we won't get too crazy and mess up chances at the meet, not with college recruiters being there, but still. It's not like Duarte is gonna give a fuck about what we're doing."

"Yeah..." Sev glanced at his phone, saw that there was still ten minutes until the bell. "I'm gonna get to class early." Darren gave him a look like Sev had just said he was joining the Rubik's Cube club, but Sev was already turning and striding down the hallway.

There were too many chances for an early morning Monster to spill on him or some kid's spitwad aim going wide, or whatever. Sev looked fucking fresh right then, and he wanted Caleb to see it.

He was wearing the light grey plaid shirt, sleeves rolled up to his biceps, and he had taken the plunge with slightly less baggy jeans. His hair was still longish, his sister just trimmed it and pulled some back with a small clip.

"Like Heath Ledger," she said.

"Isn't he dead?" Sev had replied doubtfully. She smacked him on the back of his head, and told him not to touch his hair or he'd ruin it.

He tried not to, as he pushed the door to the art classroom open, and peeked inside. He didn't immediately see Caleb, cautiously walking towards the table.

"Sev?"

Turning his head, he saw Caleb standing in the doorway of his office. Heart thundering, Sev dropped his backpack on an art table, and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "Hey, Mr. Duarte."

"Uhm," Caleb said, "Come here for a moment, Sev."

Trying to keep his breathing even, Sev nodded and followed Caleb into his office. Caleb took one more glance out towards the classroom door, and then crossed his arms, his eyes pointed at the ground. "Um, about yesterday...I told John that, uh, you were having a personal problem and you and I have struck up a kind mentor thing, and that's why you pulled me off the train. So we could talk about it." His gaze flicked up body, and then hit the ground again.

"Personal problem," Sev grinned, "That's one way of putting it."

Caleb swallowed, sliding his hand down the back of his head. "Yes, well...the thing is, we can't—" He stopped. And he looked up, this time not looking away. His gaze went from Sev's haircut to his new shirt to his new jeans. Finally, he met Sev's eyes. "Did you do this for me?"

The corner of Sev's mouth lifted. "Hell yeah."

A shuddering breath escaped Caleb's lips. He ran his tongue over them, his head turning just slightly as he looked back out at the classroom. Then, he took a step forward and kissed Sev.

It was just a little peck, just the lips, no other part of their bodies touching. So fucking chaste, but Sev thought he might just shoot a load right there. "Shit," he breathed without thinking, and then he was grabbing at Caleb, but they both heard the art classroom door open at the same time, and Caleb knocked his hands away.

"Go," Caleb hissed worriedly, and Sev skittered out of the office, taking a seat and thanking the lord that the girl who walked in had her eyes glued to her phone.

He was grinning again. He had to bury his face against his backpack, wrapping his arms around it and squeezing, imagining that he was squeezing Caleb.

''''''

The rest of the day moved like syrup, time seeming to stick at random intervals, making Sev flop around restlessly in his desk. He played with the ratty hemp bracelets on his wrist, glancing up at the clock every two seconds, and ignoring his teachers when they called on him. He felt like he was going to crawl out of his skin.

As soon as the end of day bell rang, he was going to fucking drive out any lingerers in the art classroom and lock the door. He was going to grab Caleb, maybe get a few light swats in before pulling his pants down. Just to warm him up.

Then maybe they would make out again, or something. Maybe Caleb would put up a fight, play hard to get and squirm a little bit, force Sev to wail on his ass. Make him cry.

After that, maybe Sev would give his first blowjob. Or something. Whatever. He just wanted to see Caleb as soon as possible.

The bell rang, and he was up. He sprinted down the halls, dodging past other kids, shoving some. He was in the right wing when a hand wrapped around his arm and jerked him to a stop. "Sev. Can we just fucking deal with this?"

With a dry mouth, Sev exhaled, his eyes glued to the direction of the art classroom door. He turned around, coming face to face with Finch. Serious, as always, Finch's eyes were flat, his lips in a thin line. He dropped Sev, sliding his slipping backpack strap back up his shoulder. "Why the hell were you running?" His gaze flicked to the art classroom, and his frown deepened. "You're being stupid."

Sev snorted. "You don't fucking know," he said, "You're just mad that I'm not slobbering all over you anymore, like a fucking groupie."

Shaking his head, Finch made a 'tsk' sound. "I never thought it like that, Sev. But I was mad at you, when I didn't want to understand. And you were being such a prick—"

"I don't care anymore!" Sev snapped. "I don't fucking care. I don't want to hash out feelings. I don't want to talk about this. You go be with Janey, and I'll..." He wiped at his mouth. "I'll do what I want to do."

"It's a bad idea."

"Fuck you."

Sev strode away, gritting his teeth. When he reached the art classroom, he took a moment to calm down. He didn't want to look angry or stressed or upset when Caleb saw him. Breathing, he grabbed the knob, and then noticed the door was pushed open a little, the latch of the lock sticking out as if someone had locked the door without noticing that it was open.

Pushing the door open, he stepped inside. He kinda already knew what he was going to see.

But. It still hurt.

Caleb was on his knees by his office, hands clawed around Mr. Simmons' waist. His eyes were closed, eyebrows pinched together as he adoringly slid his tongue down Mr. Simmons' cock.

''''

With a burp, Sev groaned and rolled to his side, knocking away the old pizza box lying next to him. It landed with a soft thud on his floor.

The doorbell rang. He ignored it, stretching for the can of beer on his nightstand, but he accidentally tipped it over and he watched a stream of golden liquid pool on the wood before overflowing down to his carpet.

The doorbell rang again. "Fuck! Alright!"

Jumping up, he just missed stepping on the pizza box, but he did trip on a pile of dirty clothes. He stumbled blearily down the hallway, and grumbled as he opened the front door. On the other side was a man wearing a huge coat, douchbag sun glasses, and an Oakland A's baseball hat.

It was Caleb.

"Is anyone home?" he asked.

Sev shook his head, dumbfounded. Caleb pushed past him, and Sev stepped aside, staring at Caleb Duarte standing in his front entryway. Brown eyes met his from behind those stupid sunglasses. "Is anyone going to be home?"

"How did you get here?"

"Sev."

Shrugging, Sev realized the front door was still open, and closed it. "Not for hours." He kept gawking. "Are those sunglasses really yours?"

"They're John's."

Sev didn't even answer. Suddenly, his face felt tight, and he shoved past Caleb, stomping down the hallway and slamming his door shut behind him. Still, he held his breath as his heart beat rapidly in his ribcage, and after a moment, he heard a tentative knock on his door. "Please let me in, Sev."

"No one's stopping you, asshole," he practically shouted, dropping on his bed, and dragging his blankets over him with his back turned to the door.

He heard it open, and steps move towards him. He remembered the mess, and his face flushed, but he kept quiet. "Sev," Caleb said softly. "Please come back to school."

"Fuck off and die."

"If you miss more than you have, your grades will drop, and you'll have to quit the swim team."

"You don't care," Sev scoffed, "Like you fucking care. God, Mr. Duarte, I should have known you were such a fucking slut."

There was silence for a moment, and then he heard rustling. Propping himself up on his elbow, he turned around to find Caleb puttering around his room picking up garbage and dropping it by the door. As he went, he also started throwing all the clothes strewn about into a pile. "What the hell?" Sev asked, embarrassment warring with anger.

"Um, I just—" Caleb replied, and Sev realized his voice was wavering. The sunglasses were gone, and he kept wiping at his eyes with his arm as he cleaned. "It's so messy in here. Have you been spending the whole time in here?"

"Mr. Duarte..."

"I'm sorry, Sev." He stopped moving, standing stock still with his hand covering his mouth and his eyes closed, and then he exhaled. He shoulders slumped, and he turned to Sev, dropping to his knees, his elbows hitting the bed and his fingers curling. He stared up at Sev with wet eyes. "I'm sorry you ever got dragged into my mess, so please, please come back to school."

Sev blinked. And then his face crumpled. "You wish I never—" he choked out, "Why, Mr. Duarte? Why not me? Mr. Simmons is straight, and he's be an asshole even if he wasn't. Why are you so fucking stupid?" Sev's face hurt, felt like it was straining. He tried to fight sobs. "I like you so much, Mr. Duarte, why do you hate me?"

Caleb's fingers were sinking into the bed, his eyebrows pinching together as a few tears dropped down his cheeks. "I don't hate you, Sev," he whispered, "How could I hate you? But John—"

"Shut up!" Sev screamed, slamming his hand down on the bed. "You loving him is so fucked up! He doesn't fucking deserve it!"

"But he does!" Caleb replied, losing all composure. He was hunched over, his body shaking. "You don't understand. You haven't—You don't know what it's like to lying there on the pavement with blood streaming out of you and they're all standing around you with nothing left in their eyes and you know you're going to die, die like all the other little gay boys who died before you. But then the biggest one of them all, the one you've always fucking wanted, comes out of nowhere and saves you."

He stopped, trembling. "...And says that he'll always save you."

Sev didn't know what to do with that. He did know that he felt far more calm then he had for the past week. He swallowed, and wiped his face one last time. There was a lingering headache from screaming, but he ignored it. Gently, he slid his hand over Caleb's, and laced their fingers.

"So, you're telling me—" He licked his lips. "—The bar is set at saving your life?"

He heard a snort, and smiled. The hand intertwined with his tightened. "I mean," he continued, gaining confidence, "Could you at least throw me a bone and tell me when the next time you're in fucking peril is, so I can swoop in?"

"Sev..."

"I'm serious! I can be the full package. You want me to spank you? I will. You want me to beat the shit out of some homophobes? Gladly." He slid his hand under Caleb's chin, and tilted his head up. "But you have to stop giving Mr. Simmons blowjobs."

He saw the quirk of the wry smile he was starting to get obsessed with. "Sev," Caleb said, "Don't get ahead of yourself." But there was no strength to his words.

Sev stared down at him with a frown. "I want to punish you."

He could see something working behind those brown eyes for a moment. And then Caleb asked, "You want to?"

"I'm going to."

The hand in his was shaking. He grinned, sliding off the bed. He really did like the image of Caleb on his knees, but only if it wasn't in front of Mr. Simmons. Sev took a moment to enjoy the sight, Caleb staring up at him, eyes red and face blotchy from crying. "What do you want me to do?" he asked.

Sev's lip curled with delight. "Hm," he said nonchalantly, "pull your pants down, but only past your ass. And lay on the bed."

There was a not-so-submissive flash in Caleb's eyes, one of curiousity, but he got to his feet and slid off the ridiculous, oversized jacket. Sev made sure to step on it as he shoved Caleb on the bed. Caleb blinked at him, and then started fumbling with his belt buckle. "Give that to me after you take it off," Sev said.

Caleb's fingers paused, but only for a second. He started rushing gracelessly, and it made Sev's stomach flip.

Drawing the belt out of the loops, Caleb handed it up to Sev, and then he undid his fly. He tugged his pants down, and slid around to his stomach, curling his arms around Sev's pillow, burrowing his face down. Sev considered him for a moment, and then reached forward, jerking the pants down just a little more, exposing milky thigh. Caleb shivered.

"I'm gonna make you black and blue," Sev growled. "Repay ten times what you made me feel."

There was no answer. Taking a resolute breath, Sev doubled the belt, swishing it back and forth two or three times to get the feel of it. He brought it down once on his hand, just to make sure of what he was doing, wincing at the sting. He saw Caleb flinch at the sound, and chuckled.

No counting. No warning. Nothing. He snapped the belt down with all his strength, the leather licking Caleb's ass with a snap. Caleb gasped, a red mark blooming on his pale skin, his arms around Sev's pillow tightening. "Fucking bitch," Sev said, taking another swing, Caleb's ass rippling from the impact.

It was satisfying. He kept on, hit after hit after hit, Caleb's ass changing colors beautifully. Caleb, in Sev's room. Caleb, on Sev's bed. He held on admirably long, but Sev wasn't getting tired. "You should have thought about this," Sev said gleefully, "I bet it's only been old dudes spanking you, huh? Whacha gonna do, Mr. Duarte? I'm eighteen. I could do this all fucking day."

"No..." he heard Caleb whisper, and then Sev brought the belt down again. It bit against Caleb's thighs, and Caleb jumped with a yelp. "Sev, please..."

"Please what?" Another, directly across the dark red cheeks. Caleb's entire body was shuddering. Another, the snap ringing out, a sharp accent to Caleb's sobs. Sev paused, observing his handiwork. He was keyed up, he wanted Caleb begging. He really could do this all day. He licked his lips, and brought the belt down with a tight swing.

"I'm sorry," Caleb whined. "I'm really sorry." He kept squirming, trying to shift, but his legs were bound by his pants.

"you gonna be mine?"

There was no answer. Sev gritted his teeth, and snapped the belt against Caleb's ass as hard as he could. "You gonna be mine, Caleb?"

"Ughh..." Groaning, Caleb sniffed, rising up on his elbows. He was still crying, Sev could see teardrops falling onto his pillow. The sight of Caleb's sloped back going down to his already purpling ass made clouded Sev's brain. Breathing heavily, he dropped the belt loosely on Caleb's ass, making him jump, and slid it gently across.

"You gonna be mine?" Sev repeated, tone soft.

He let go of the belt, and it fell to the ground. Kneeling on to the bed, he scooted forward cautiously, leaning over and resting his hand on Caleb's back. Sliding his hand down, he gave Caleb's ass a firm squeeze. "I want you to be mine."

Keeping his eyes scrunched shut, Caleb dropped his head. Sev saw that he couldn't bring himself to speak. Sev sighed wearily, and circled his arm around Caleb's waist, pulling him in, hugging him tightly, their chests flush together. After a moment, Caleb started crying softly against the crook of Sev's neck.

All Sev could think to do was keep whispering, "I want you. I want you. I want you."


	10. Chapter 10

Ok, well. It's not like Sev had mentally blocked out Caleb's front half the four to five times he's seen him without pants and underwear. But the focus was always on the ass, and maybe Sev wanted to be a gentleman about things.

Ok, that was bullshit.

Caleb was in his bed. Caleb's pants were down again. Sev would have to be a fucking pansy not to reach down and take advantage of the situation. Definitely, it would be the first time he touched a dick other than his own, and, oh fuck, how he wanted to. But he was frozen in scared indecision, wondering what exactly would be crossing the line, making Caleb push Sev away and pull his pants back up.

This line, it seemed, wasn't his ass. Because Sev had a handful of that, kneading and rubbing hot flesh. Caleb was breathing softly, grinding against Sev's palm, but Sev was pretty sure it was just to relieve some of the pain from being belted. Caleb had his forehead pressed against Sev's chest, his fingers curled and knuckles pushed against his lips. He whispered something, cleared his throat, and then said, "Are you sure no one's coming soon?"

Shaking his head, Sev's breath hitched. Maybe Caleb was thinking the same thing...

"Sev?"

He realized that Caleb couldn't see his face. "N-no."

With a groan, Caleb slowly pushed himself up and out of Sev's arms. He dropped his head, and sighed, rubbing at his eyes. "I need to go," he said. Leaning forward, he reached for his pants tangled down around his thighs.

"What?" Sev asked, his eyebrows pinching together. He sat up quickly, bending to try and catch a glimpse of Caleb's expression. "Wait..."

There was an almost imperceptible shake of Caleb's head. His mouth was set in a thin line.

Sev felt annoyance spike in the pit of his stomach. He caught Caleb's wrist. "Hold on," he said tightly, "This isn't going to be like when I spanked you in the classroom. You're not backing out right after you got what you wanted." For extra measure, he jerked Caleb a little, enough to get him to stop trying to do his fly.

Caleb immediately looked at Sev, eyes wide and lips parted. And then his gaze flicked down to Sev's hand around his arm. "You think I owe you something?" he asked emotionlessly.

Running his tongue over his lips, Sev's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, actually," he said. "I do. I think, by now, I'm owed some fucking..." He didn't know the word, and he tripped, his face flushing. "Some fucking—damnit!" Shutting his mouth, he dropped his hold on Caleb, and slid of the bed, getting to his feet. Things had gotten twisted around so quickly. He rubbed at the back of his neck and turned around. "You know what I mean!"

Caleb looked bored. "You want me to blow you?"

Sev was pretty sure he was about to start crying again, which would have too fucking embarrassing. "Are you kidding me?" he breathed.

For a moment, Caleb just stared at Sev. His hair was messy, his clothes still completely askew, and he looked tired. But then he drew in a long breath, closing his eyes. Sev waited. Finally, Caleb said, "Please come here."

With a dry mouth, Sev sank back down on the bed, his eyes wide and on Caleb. He inched forward, and nearly lost his balance when Caleb reached forward, palming his cheek, and kissed him. It was slow and gentle, giving Sev the time and room to build up the courage to push Caleb down on his back and take control. "I don't get you at all," Sev mumbled against Caleb's mouth, slipping his hand under Caleb's shirt.

"I'm sorry."

Sev's face scrunched with frustration, but a breath was torn out of him when Caleb bucked his hips up, grinding against Sev. Sev shoved him back down and Caleb's hand trembled against Sev's face. "Don't be sorry, say that you like me."

Caleb didn't answer him, but he did let Sev suck a bright red hickey on his neck, and then he slipped away before Sev's mom came home.

'''''

The next day, Sev went back to school.

He dutifully attended swimming practice. He, very gentlemanly, avoided talking to Caleb during art. At lunch, he sat with Janey. After school, he went to Finch's fruit stand.

Finch was sitting on a lawn chair behind the avocados, hunched over a SAT practice book and tapping a pencil on the page, frowning with concentration. When Sev dropped down in the dirt beside him, he didn't even look up. He flipped a page, and said, "Hey."

"Hey," Sev returned. He brushed at his shoulder, shifted back on his palms, glanced squint-eyed down the dusty freeway, and then cleared his throat. "I've probably been an asshole."

Finch grunted, and flipped another page.

"An asshole, a—yeah. But it's been kind of fucked up lately."

"You still going after Mr. Duarte?"

A car zoomed by. Sev exhaled, his heart beating a little too fast. Wiping at his brow, he let out a small chuckle. "Hell, dude, you say that like it's something more than a fucking wet dream. Like Duarte would ever fucking give me the time of day." Swallowing, Sev ventured a quick glance up at Finch to see how he reacted, but he was still focused intently on his book.

But then Finch cracked a small grin. "Yeah," he said amiably, "That guy has Mr. Simmons. Like he would ever give your scrawny ass the time of day."

"What was that?" Sev replied, quirking an eyebrow. "You've been checking out my ass?"

Finch laughed, but it sounded a little awkward, as if the topic of the conversation had just caught up to him. He scratched at his eyebrow. "But...you're...ok. With the gay thing."

Sev laughed. "Are you okay with the gay thing?"

Finch finally looked at him. His expression was as sincere as ever, eyebrows set in a serious line. "Yeah."

"Good." Sev thought for a moment. "And don't worry, I won't try to fuck you over a table."

A pencil bounced off the side of his head. "Fuck off, dip-shit." Sev could hear the subtle relief in Finch's voice, the dissipation of tension. There was rustling, and he looked up to see Finch pulling his cellphone out of his pocket and flipping it open. He started punching on the keys.

"You telling Janey we made up?"

"Yeah."

Sev nodded, looking back out across the cornfields. They had made up, and the first thing Finch did afterwards was text Janey. Well, Sev had lied about Caleb, and he was still harboring a shadow of pain when it came to Finch, a shadow that only solidified with each beep of the phone as Finch wrote his text.

What had Caleb said? These things take time. Probably space too, which would happen soon enough. Sev would pretend. He would bury feelings. Because Finch and he weren't going to be the same for awhile.

And that's just the way it was.

'''''

Sev and Darren sat on the curb in front of their school, hands shielding their eyes against the sun glinting down on the few cars sitting in the parking lot. The rest of the team sat or stood in little clusters, most trying to keep to the shade. "Man," Darren said, sighing and leaning back on his palms. "Simmons said they'd be here at noon."

Sev grunted in response, his gaze flicking up to the school entrance every five seconds.

"What did you bring?"

"Just like...clothes, and shit. A few Cliff bars"

Darren nodded. "Same. You know, Simmons said he would take the seniors carbo loading tonight. Think that means Hooters?"

Managing to pull his eyes away from the front of the school, Sev quirked an eyebrow at Darren."Why would that mean Hooters?"

"I dunno, man, there was a Hooters by the hotel last year. Seniors said Simmons took them there."

"Whatever," Sev laughed. One of the double doors to the school opened, and he immediately sat up straight. He saw Caleb come out into the sun, eyes squinting down at his cellphone, a duffel bag strap slung around his shoulder. When the door shut, the rest of the team looked up and watched his approach.

"Okay, guys," he said, "Mr. Simmons said the bus in on it's way, there was just a little confusion about whether we needed one or two."

"Cool story, Mr. Duarte," Sev shouted, grinning cockily. Caleb eyed him for a second, frowning, and then started counting off heads, mouthing the numbers as he went. Chest buzzing, Sev turned back around. Hell yeah, Caleb definitely liked rude, shithead students treating him with disrespect. Like he would even be able to deny it.

Darren groaned, leaning over to rest his forehead on his palms. "We could have gone to fifth period by now."

"Yeah, like you're really that broken up about missing class."

"Touche."

Noticing some kids standing up, Sev looked over to the street. A tour bus was making its way towards the school, and everyone watched with rapt attention as the driver tried to maneuver the giant-ass thing into the parking lot. "Um," Caleb said, "Let's—yeah—alright, everyone up. We'll just go over there and make things easier."

"But it's that dude's job to pick us up!" Darren whined.

Sev elbowed him in the side. "Just get up, asshole, don't be so fucking lazy." He jogged away, Darren cursing at him in his wake, and went to Caleb. "Yo," he said, "Oh, uh, you're—" He reached forward, and lifted Caleb's duffel strap up and back over his shoulder "—bag was slipping." He smiled.

"Thank you," Caleb replied, a little stiffly...but maybe Sev was over analyzing things. Yet, Caleb definitely wouldn't meet his eyes. The bus driver and Mr. Simmons had jumped down from the bus, and the driver was opening the bottom compartments for everyone to stuff their bags into. People shuffled forward like zombies, but Sev hanged back.

"Um," he said, licking his lips. He cleared his throat, his gaze pointed down at Caleb's pair of Toms. "I was thinking, if you wanted to sit with me—"

"Caleb!" Mr. Simmons marched over. "Give me your bag, you can just head in. We're behind the driver." He simply grabbed the duffel away from Caleb, and marched away just as quickly, with Caleb standing there looking like he wasn't quite sure what just happened.

When he took a step towards the bus, Sev caught his wrist. As if burned, Caleb jerked his arm away at the touch. "Not right now," he said tightly, his brown eyes focused on Sev.

"Then don't sit with him!" Sev hissed under his breath. He drew a little closer, lowering his voice. "Sit with me. Please?"

Shaking his head, Caleb's eyes kept darting towards the team amassing around the bus door. "Sev, I'm serious. Don't do this right now. Go sit with your friends." He moved away before Sev could catch him again, and headed towards the bus door. Clenching his jaw, Sev watched him for a moment, before deciding that he couldn't just leave it there, and stepped forward to follow Caleb when he noticed Darren coming towards him.

"I have my DS and my brother's PSP. Which do you want?"

"What?" Sec replied, distracted as he watched Mr. Simmons stop Caleb at the bus door to say something. His chest tightened. They shouldn't be standing so fucking close. Did Caleb even learn his lesson? Or maybe he was aiming for another strapping. Still, Sev thought he was going to fucking bash Simmons' head in if they kept standing that close.

"Sev?"

"What?" Sev snapped. When he saw the look Darren was giving him, he pulled back. Shit, he needed to pull himself together. It wasn't like Caleb and Mr. Simmons were just going to stop speaking together...actually, they still lived in the same apartment. Would Caleb move out? He and Sev hadn't really discussed the fine details about being together.

Sev's jaw clenched. They hadn't even discussed being together at all.

He could deal with it. Sev was not some insecure little bitch who couldn't handle his boyfriend talking to the guy he'd been in love with for ten years...that he was still living with.

Well—that was not true. At all. On the bus, with everyone else talking loudly or watching the movie, or listening to their iPods, or snoring or whatever else, all Sev could do was watch Caleb and Simmons sitting at the front, and talking. And touching. Their arms touched, and when Caleb would say something, Simmons would laugh and then Caleb would blush a little and Sev felt like he was fucking losing his mind.

He was sitting, stiff as a board, on the aisle seat, fingers clawing into the stained fabric of the chair, eyes narrowed on Caleb. Oh, how he fucking wanted to storm down that aisle and force Caleb over his knee, spank him raw till he was sobbing. Till he finally fucking promised to never fucking look or speak to Mr. Simmons again.

"Dude..."

Daren's dubious tone broke whatever rage-induced trance Sev was in. He slumped back in the seat, dropping his chin. "I fucking hate Mr. Simmons."

"What did he do?"—and then before Sev could answer—"because, you know, he fucking pulled for you while you were in your stupid pothead phase, kept bugging us to find you and talk to you and shit. He's not a bad guy."

Yeah, he's not a bad guy. He saw a gay kid getting bashed and he stepped in. When he was only seventeen, and any other kid would have been too scared. But he also chained Caleb to him, for ten years he kept Caleb as his personal little worshipper. Not a bad guy.

Sev snorted with disgust. "So what," he muttered.

Letting out a low whistle, Darren dropped his PSP down on his lap. "Come on, bro, like, he can act fucking annoying getting up in our shit, I understand that, but he actually fucking cares, you know?"

"Yeah," Sev replied, just to get Darren to shut up. Like he wanted to hear about how great Mr. Simmons was. He didn't.

''''

So, it turned out, Mr. Simmons did take the seniors to Hooters. Apparently, it was some kind of tradition.

And after several rounds of pepsi and buffalo wings (decidedly not carbo-loading), all of the dickwad boys thought it was hilarious every time a waitress talked to Caleb. Because the waitress had boobs, and Caleb had no interest in boobs. This was comedic gold, apparently.

Sev wanted to strangle them. And, for once, he was siding with the girls on the team, who were all as fucking appalled as Sev every time the guys started sniggering when Caleb would ask for more napkins. "It's wasted on him," Darren intoned, stuffing a french fry in his mouth. He and Sev were on the far end of the length of tables pushed together for the team, while Caleb sat on the other end...with Simmons.

Darren grinned at Sev. "I wonder what boobs look like to him."

"Boobs, probably."

"Yeah, but...like is there zero attraction there? How can a dude not like boobs?"

Shrugging, Sev sank low in his chair. He stuffed his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt, and narrowed his eyes as he watched Simmons pour more pepsi into Caleb's cup. Actually, Sev had spent a lot of time, pretty much since the bus left the school, watching Caleb, and not once did Caleb look at him.

When Simmons tapped his fork against his plastic cup, Sev rolled his eyes.

"So, guys," Simmons said, standing up. "I know this isn't the be-all end-all of meets, but it's important. Especially for all of you. There will be college recruiters, mark my words. Now. I'm not a prison warden, I'm not going to baby you and do room checks, but be smart, and go to bed early. Or at least in your own rooms, ok?"

The tables erupted in a round whoops and hollering, and Simmons waved his hand. "Alright, alright," he laughed, sitting back down.

Darren leaned in towards Sev. "Someone should do a room check for him and Mr. Duarte."

Gaze jerking up, Sev stared down the table at Caleb and Mr. Simmons. He hadn't even thought of that. It was one thing, thinking about how they lived together—because that was far away, in the city, removed from Sev, and Sev could almost ignore it—but to think that they would be together, in the same room, on the same floor as Sev.

Swallowing, throat dry, Sev played with the ruined shreds of his straw wrapper. For some reason, his eyes hurt. He wiped at them, swallowing again.

"You alright, man?"

Sev exhaled, lip curling up. He wondered just how weird he had to act before Darren started getting really worried. "Yeah, dude, fuck off."

"You fuck off," Darren laughed.

Later, in the hotel room, Sev was not managing to act any less weird, and he knew it. Darren was lounging back on his bed, flipping through the channels, but Sev could feel his eyes tracking Sev's repeated circuit from the bathroom mirror to his bed, and back again. He had already taken a shower, and he was in his sweatpants and sweatshirt, and, really, he should just be getting to sleep, but he couldn't.

See. Here was the thing. He didn't have to imagine Caleb's lips sucking on Simmons' cock, because he had already seen it. And now the reel of those experiences were circling through his head, just as quickly as he was going from the bed to the bathroom.

"Listen—dude—I get that everyone gets pre-meet jitters and all, but you're, like, seriously making me twitchy."

"Sorry," Sev muttered. He flopped down backwards on his bed, and stared at the ceiling. He knew which room Caleb and Simmons were in, Simmons had told the whole group in case there was an emergency.

Caleb...had never promised Sev anything. He never, like, gave away his hand or whatever, never told Sev that he liked him. Sev had literally beat Caleb with a belt, and he was still leading Sev by the balls. And to make matters worse, Simmons' balls were probably in Caleb's mouth at that very moment.

"Fucking—" Sev shouted, spurned to his feet by the thought. He went to his bag and grabbed his cellphone. And then he made a pretty dumb mistake, even by Sev's standard.

The first text was fine. It was like, hey, and, how's it going? are u asleep?

The second...was not great—like, Is simmons there? don't suck him, k?

The third (y arent you texting back? you better not be sucking him. ill fucking bruise your ass, got it? Mr. Duarte?), which Sev sent exactly one minute later, pretty much opened the floodgates.

"Dude..what are you—are you playing a game?"

"Mhm," Sev replied as he mashed the keys on what was probably the fortieth text. His heart was hammering in his chest, blood pumping and hot, and his feet were itching to move. What if like, because they were at a hotel, Simmons got into some kind of adventurous mood, and decided he wanted to try fucking Caleb in the ass? What then?

"I'm going for a walk," Sev muttered tightly, slamming his way out of the room before Darren could respond.

Down the hallway, up one flight, and he was at the right room. He stared. Caleb and Simmons were right inside, right past that door. Sev looked at his phone, sent another text. Come outside. But there was no answer. He wiped at his mouth, and looked at the door again. He started pacing, checking his phone, looking at the door, checking his phone.

He felt like clawing at the door, pounding. He felt like screaming, because it was so out of his control. Caleb was out of his control.

With a rush of purely ill-advised action, he knocked on the door. And then his eyes widened, because...what the fuck.

The door opened. Simmons stood there, wearing his polo shirt and jeans. "Sev?"

"Mr. Simmons," Sev replied.

Mr. Simmons quirked an eyebrow, his fucking Ken-Doll face lighting with amusement. "Did you need something, Sev?"

"I—uhm, I'm." Sev looked to the side. "I'm a little worried about the meet."

"Oh yeah?" Mr. Simmons replied, and just like that he opened the door wide. "Come in, we'll talk about it."

Gaping, Sev shut his mouth quickly, and trailed after Simmons, eyes flitting to the bathroom, but it was empty, and Mr. Simmons was leading him to the beds. "Sit down," he said, gesturing towards an untouched one, and then he sat on the other, which is when Sev finally saw Caleb.

He was asleep, tucked under the covers, on his side facing towards the other bed. When Mr. Simmons sat down in front of him, he fucking mewled in his sleep, and curled in towards Simmons' back. Like a cutie. Because he was a cutie.

Sev stared at him. And then Simmons caught Sev staring at him. "Ah, yeah," Simmons chuckled, "Would you look at this guy? So lazy."

The affectionate, easy tone of ownership had Sev seething. He had to drag his gaze away from Caleb as he sat down on the bed opposite. "Yeah?" he said, trying to sound disinterested, but choking on the word. He cleared his throat, rubbing his palms down the tops of his legs, restraining himself from launching at Mr. Simmons.

"Yeah—" Simmons replied, but was cut off when a phone started ringing. He reached over to the nightstand, and picked the phone up, staring at the screen. "Now she calls," he muttered, standing up. "Look, one sec, k?"

Sev nodded, dumbfounded as he watched Simmons walk out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him. And then Sev was alone with Caleb.

He turned back around. Caleb was still very much asleep, lips pouting out and wet hair drying oddly. It didn't look like he was wearing a shirt. Apprehensively, Sev shifted over to Caleb's bed, sitting close and wondering if it was creepy to watch someone he had such an enormous crush on sleep. It wasn't weird, right? Watching someone he liked sleep?

Standing up, because it was probably a little weird, he paced to the other side of the room, leaning against the hotel room desk. His hand slid back, hitting something, and he looked down. It was Caleb's phone.

Caleb's phone.

"Shit," Sev said, conveniently remembering all of his insane texts. He didn't even take a moment to question his decision, turning the phone on and watching with horror as Fifty-three new messages' flashed on the screen with a beep. And all from an unknown number, because, haha, Sev had secretly absconded with Caleb's phone number. Caleb would just love discovering that at the same time he learned just how prolific a texter Sev was.

Sev had just figured out how to delete texts when he heard rustling, and cringed.

"Sev?"

Looking up, he saw Caleb propped up on his elbow, blinking blearily at Sev. "What...why are you—" His eyes focused. "What are you doing with my phone?"

Sev felt like crying. He let out a sharp laugh. "I thought had a second chance not to look like such a fucking psycho."

Sitting up more, Caleb rubbed at his eyes, and then sniffed. He paused for a moment, and then shook his head. "...What?" He still sounded half asleep. Sev tossed the phone at him, it landing on his lap. He picked it up, and silently stared at the screen. "Sev..."

"I know, ok?" Sev spat, "I know. But you're in here the whole night with him, and I can't stand it." That seemed to finally bring Caleb back to reality. His eyes widened, and he jerked around. "He's not here," Sev said flatly.

"Where is he?" Caleb replied.

Sev's chin jutted out defiantly, and he briefly considered just not answering. The look on Caleb's face brought him up short. "He had a phone call."

Caleb considered this for a moment, slumped forward. Finally, he groaned as he shifted out from under the covers, his feet hitting the carpet. "You can't be in here," he said stiffly, his eyes trained on the wall opposite from him. "You really, really cannot be here."

"But here I am," Sev replied with a wave of his hands.

Caleb drew in a long breath. "Please, Sev, I promise we will deal with this. But not right now, not on this trip. It's really not the time."

"Yeah, but...can you at least say if you like me?" Caleb looked over at him suddenly, but Sev kept talking, "I mean it, because you're in here with Mr. Simmons, and I just...I don't have anything to prove you like me. It's driving me crazy, Mr. Duarte. I don't even know if you..." He trailed off, clenching his jaw.

He drew closer to Caleb, saw the way Caleb's eyes widened at his approach. When he was in front of Caleb, Sev ran his fingers through his wet, brown hair. "You look really cute."

Caleb had tensed up. He was staring cautiously at Sev. "I can't do this," he said quietly, "I can't be caught up in some dramatic Romeo and Juliet type thing with you, Sev."

"So, you hate me," Sev said just as quietly, sounding wounded.

He hated himself for doing it.

Caleb immediately straightened up, hands clasping at Sev's arms. "No. I do not hate you. Sev, it would be so impossible to hate someone who's tried so hard to..." For once, Sev saw the clear display of emotions in Caleb's eyes, the stark earnest sincerity.

He bit his lip. "I won't be able to sleep tonight."

There was a waver in Caleb's gaze. "...What?"

Looking to the side, because he couldn't look Caleb in the eyes as he said it, he murmured, "I can't fucking sleep knowing you and Mr. Simmons will be in this room, I'll be up all fucking night. I don't know if I can race tomorrow."

It sounded so wooden, so fucking lame and disgusting. But he didn't know what else to do.

"...So," he pushed forward with a cough, because he was already on a fucking roll, "I guess. I guess I need proof."

"You need proof," Caleb replied flatly. His hold on Sev's arms had gone weak.

Sev nodded. "Yeah. If you're gonna be in here with Mr. Simmons tonight. I need proof that you like me."

"So that you can race tomorrow," Caleb continued for him, eyes narrowing.

Grimacing, Sev ran his tongue over his lips. "I'm serious," he said, voice cracking, "I'm really serious." And maybe he was, a little. Yes, he wanted proof that Caleb would do this for him.

Caleb's hands slipped from his arms, and Sev opened his mouth to speak, but then he heard the door to the hotel room open, and he quickly jumped back, resuming his seat on the other bed. Simmons came into sight, muttering as he stared at his phone, and then he looked up. "Sorry about that," he said absent-mindedly. He gaze landed on Caleb. "Oh," he said with a smile, "You're up."

"Yeah..." Caleb replied vaguely, eyes on his hands. "...Where. Who were you talking to?"

"Mm?" Simmons was obviously trying to appear nonchalant. "Oh—you might remember her, she was at the meet last year and we kind of struck up a—" He glanced at Sev, and chuckled. "So, Sev, what did you need to talk about?"

"Are you meeting up with her?" Caleb cut over him. Simmons looked at him with a frown, shifting uncomfortably.

"Uhm, Caleb..." he said quietly.

"No. It's fine." Caleb stood up, pushing past Simmons to the closet. Now that he was completely free from the covers, Sev could see that he was wearing nothing but a tight pair of purple briefs. "Sev said that he could talk to me about—" He pulled out a pair of corduroy pants as he glanced over at Sev. "Swimming, or whatever."

"Swimming or whatever?" Simmons echoed, crossing his arms.

"Yeah," Sev said, and Simmons looked at him with a quirked eyebrow. "Mr. Duarte is really good about talking things through."

"Sev, let's go," Caleb said insistently. He was wearing a normal sweatshirt, which looked pretty odd on him.

"You guys are going somewhere?" Simmons asked.

"Starbucks," Caleb replied, shooting Simmons a challenging look. "I'll probably get back before you do."

"Caleb!" Simmons said tightly, sounding both annoyed and confused.

He shrugged, and nodded at Sev. "Come on."

Sev wasn't going to argue. He jumped up and skittered past Simmons, following Caleb out the door. "Where are we..." he began, but Caleb just shook his head, so Sev decided to follow him quietly. Which turned out to be quite a hike, with Caleb leading him down several city streets until they ended up at a Walgreens.

Sev managed not to say anything, even as they walked through the empty drugstore, but when he saw where Caleb was leading him, saw Caleb jerk a box of condoms off the rack, he let out a quiet, "Holy shit."

Caleb looked at him. "This is what you wanted, right?"

"Y—yeah. Yes," he stuttered. Caleb eyed him silently for a beat, and then also grabbed a bottle of lube. Sev thought he was going to die.

At the cash register, Sev kept fidgeting around, shifting from foot to foot. He probably looked fucking suspicious. He gaped when Caleb pointed at a bottle of vodka sitting up on the shelf behind the counter.

Outside, he still followed obediently, right up to a weary-looking motel, 50 bucks for a night.

"I—I'll pay!"

Caleb paused at the motel's office door. "No," he said simply, and pushed the Walgreens bag at Sev's chest. Sev watched him through the window as he paid for a room. He didn't even look at Sev as he came back out, and Sev fell in line again until they reached their room, and Caleb let them inside.

Sev was a fucking mess of nerves by that point. He stood there awkwardly, getting in Caleb's way, and mumbling apologies.

Taking the bag from him, Caleb set it on the desk, and pulled out the vodka bottle. He opened it, and threw back a long gulp. He hissed, and wiped at his mouth, dropping the bottle down on the desk with a thud.

"Is this...is this like, some kind of scared-straight, kind of thing?" Sev whispered. Caleb looked at him.

"Are you scared?"

Sev shook his head.

Caleb exhaled in amusement, and sat down on the bed. Moving a little closer, Sev scratched at the top of his hand, his eyes on the ground. "Do you—do you want me to spank you, a little?"

"No," Caleb replied, and Sev looked up. There was a gentleness to Caleb's voice. "I'm not expecting you to be able to pull off dominant for your first time," he said with a smile, "This can be for you, Sev. It can be about you."

Sev nodded, biting down on his lip. He was pretty sure he had never seen Caleb be straight up nice to him before. "Um, so...do you—me, or..." He flushed, ruffling his hair with frustration.

"What do you want to do?"

Sev looked up at him. "I want to fuck you."

Nodding, looking faintly amused, Caleb stood back up and went to the desk. He took another chug of the vodka—which he very clearly was not offering to Sev—and then pulled out the lube and the condoms. "Get undressed," he said, with his back to Sev.

"Can this be—" Sev said suddenly. Caleb glanced around at him, eyebrows raised. "Can this be...less formal. Please? I just want to make out, or something. For awhile."

Caleb seemed taken aback, frowning. "Yeah," he said, "Of course. But go lay down."

Nodding, Sev went to the bed, scooting back until he hit the headboard. Caleb came around, opening the box of condoms, and setting a few, along with the lube, on the nightstand. He sank down on the bed, drawing close to Sev, and placed a simple kiss on Sev's lips. Sev lurched forward, their teeth clacking, and Caleb let out a barking laugh.

"Ok..." he said, sitting back. "Do you want to be aggressive, Sev? Or was that just nerves?"

"Both, I guess," Sev replied sheepishly, eyes glued on Caleb.

"You know how to be confident," Caleb said, his brown eyes soft. "And you know I like being submissive, so don't be afraid to take control, however you like."

Sev didn't really need any more of an open invitation than that. He shoved Caleb down, heard a pleased gasp, and then he was caging Caleb in with his arms, nipping at his neck, and sliding his tongue up Caleb's throat. He kissed Caleb, long and slow and hot, and Sev pushed his tongue in, tasting him.

And then he was achingly hard, rolling his hips with want, and nibbling on Caleb's lips. "Fuck—I want to fuck you..."

"Condoms," Caleb muttered, "and the—give me the lube."

"I want to do that..." Sev whined, only partially sure what he was saying he wanted to do. But he grasped for the bottle of lube, and sat up, straddling Caleb as he kind of stared dumbly at the item in his hand. He popped the cap, licking his lips, and poured a generous amount on his hand. "I want to do it," he said with more conviction, meeting Caleb's eyes.

Caleb nodded. "Get off me."

Clambering off, Sev watched hungrily as Caleb jerked his pants off, kicking them to the ground. The sweatshirt was next. And then Caleb twisted around to his stomach, resting down on his elbows as he slid his knees forward, his rounded ass presented. Sev gulped, trembling as he reached forward, taking a firm handful.

"Ok, just—do it," Caleb breathed.

"Yeah," Sev said leaning over him, bracing himself on one palm as he pushed his fingers into the cleft of Caleb's ass. He rubbed the opening a little, getting used to the feel as his heart pounded, and then shoved a finger inside. Caleb let out a low moan.

So...Sev was fingering a man. And it was pretty fucking awesome. The way that Caleb was holding himself taut, breathing raggedly. Sev barely had time to push a second finger in before Caleb just started fucking himself on Sev's hand. "Whoa," Sev breathed, licking his lips. Fuck, it was hot.

"Now, now is fine, Sev," Caleb whined. He had reached back with one hand, gripping his cock, and jerking. "Now would be a good time."

"But...only. Two fingers?"

"It's fine," Caleb muttered. His eyes were scrunched shut. "I like a little—I like it a little tight."

"Cool," Sev replied dumbly, urgency hitting him. He slid his fingers out, and reached for a condom, tearing the wrapper. He stared at the condom, his hands shaking. And then he looked over at Caleb, and saw Caleb was looking at Sev upside down from between his arms. He was smiling crookedly.

He reached for the condom. "Give it to me."

"Um, ok." Sev handed it over. He gawked as Caleb put it in his mouth, and then curled around to Sev. He tugged down Sev's sweatpants, unleashing his throbbing cock, and then—and this also could have been a point where Sev could have just died—he rolled the condom down with his lips, finishing with his hand. He looked up at Sev with a wicked look in his eyes, and Sev's heart skipped a beat. "...I love you."

Caleb snorted, dropping his head. "Fuck me," he said, "Come on."

He went back to the position he was in before, on his hands and forearm, the other back and languidly jacking his cock again. Sev watched him quietly, wondering if he would be able to actually fuck Caleb, and not shoot his load before he even got inside. Well, he wouldn't know unless he tried.

He scooted forward on his knees, clasping Caleb's hips tightly in his hands. And then he slid one hand gently down Caleb's back, rubbing it back up, and then he took his cock, pressing it against Caleb's hole. Heat surrounded him, making his breathing come in rapid bursts as he shoved in. "Jesus."

He saw Caleb's hand ball into a fist. And he could tell why, it was so tight, Caleb stretching around him almost painfully. He could only imagine what Caleb was feeling. "Ok?"

"Yeah...just, ok. Fuck me."

Nodding, even though Caleb couldn't see him, Sev started a slow rhythm of thrusting in and out. He mentally chanted to himself that he wouldn't just start jackhammering like a douche, that he would make this good for both of them, even if it was his first time. He kept rubbing Caleb's back, whispering his name, and pushing in and out.

It was suffocatingly good, but when Caleb let loose a low moan, it suddenly became fucking nirvana. Sev almost lost control then, shuddering, but he kept strong, and starting pumping against the spot that made Caleb act like that, whimpering and moaning and squirming, making Sev lose his mind. "You like that?"

"Yes." Sev saw that Caleb had stopped jerking off, that he was clenching into the sheets, moving his hips back to meet Sev's thrusts.

And then, Sev pretty much lost the ability to give blow-by-blows. He rode into Caleb, over and over and over, heat coiling in his gut and his balls, and he kept licking his lips, palms sliding up and down Caleb's sweaty back. He could feel the rise, the wall that was going to break, and he grunted, going tense. "Fuck, I'm—"

He came, and even after he came, he kept rocking his hips against Caleb, grasping his shoulders, and collapsing on him. He kept thrusting, closing his eyes. He felt Caleb tense too, moaning, and then go completely loose, dropping down so that they were both collapsed on the bed.

Lying on top of Caleb like that, he started stroking at Caleb's hair, running his hand through the brown locks. He dropped his cheek down on Caleb's shoulder, chest heaving. Afterglow. Now he knew what that was like. But also...

"Can I—can we do it again?" Sev asked quietly, "Like this?" He started rolling his hips. "Like, without me even pulling out."

He heard Caleb laugh, his body shaking. "No, Sev, we need to go. You need sleep." Sev didn't know if Caleb said that pointedly, but it made his stomach clench with guilt just the same.

"Are you sure you don't want me to spank you a little? Maybe something classic, you know, over the knee?"

Caleb didn't laugh at that. And after a moment, Sev heard a very muffled "Yes."

With great care, he pulled out of Caleb, holding the condom, just starting to realize, with great pride, that he had fucked his own teacher. He tied the condom off, and tossed it into the trashcan. He scooted to the edge of the bed, dropping his feet on the carpet, and looked at Caleb's prone form. "Well, come on. Get your ass over here."

Sitting up, Caleb slid over and positioned himself over Sev's thighs without looking Sev in the face. Sev wrapped a firm arm around his waist to keep him steady, and slid a hand over the slopes of his ass. The ass Sev had just fucked. "You were a pretty good boy, though," he said idly, "Did a good job taking my cock."

Caleb shuddered, angling his ass a little higher. Sev grinned. "But I guess I do need to leave you with something to remember, so you don't go back to Simmons and do something bad."

He snapped his palm down, skin smacking sharply against skin. Caleb whimpered. Sev did it again, and again, and again, until a nice, pink handprint started to bloom across Caleb's cheeks. "You will be good, won't you?"

Caleb whined, wiggling around on Sev's lap. With an exaggerated sigh, Sev spanked him harshly. "Yes!" he gasped.

It wasn't enough to make Caleb cry, Sev knew that, but Sev could tell Caleb was getting off just being being sprawled over Sev's lap, having his ass smacked. He really, really did love being submissive—which was a complete mindfuck for Sev, when compared to the completely unbreakable asshole Caleb usually was. But whatever, it was all awesome. Caleb was awesome.

He wanted more contact, shoving Caleb back on the bed, and crawling over him. Caleb turned his head, lips pressing together. Grinning, Sev pushed a hand under his ass, and pinched the hot skin. There was a yelp, Caleb bucking again, and tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. "Shit," he said, rubbing his cheek down against Sev's neck. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, sir."

"Sir?" Sev laughed, lacing their fingers and pushing Caleb's hands down against the mattress. "That's really hot."

Murmuring something, Caleb's cheeks flushed red as he turned his face away again. "Oh no," Sev said sternly, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look back up again. Sev kissed him, and then kissed him again. He bit Caleb's lip, and then leaned up. "You can't hide from me."

To Sev's mounting surprise and excitement, Caleb whined in protest, shaking his head back and forth, squirming around underneath him. "Jesus," Sev said under his breath, stroking a gentle path along Caleb's jawline with his thumb. Slipping his hand down, he loosely wrapped it around Caleb's throat. Their eyes met.

Caleb's lips curled in a self-satisfied grin. "You like me like this?"

Nodding without saying anything, Sev took his time dragging his gaze down Caleb's pliant body. "When did you find out that you liked being—"

"Submissive?"

Sev nodded again. Smiling, Caleb shrugged. "When did you find out you liked being dominant?"

Eyebrows pinching with confusion, Sev replied, "With you," like it was obvious.

Caleb's warm, loose expression melted, his eyes gaining focus. He squirmed out from under Sev, sliding off the bed, rubbing his ass. He went to where his clothes had fallen, and Sev watched him dress with growing unease. "Are you gonna watch my race tomorrow?"

"Yes, I will."

"Do you like me?"

Caleb had his back to Sev, head bent as he did his fly. He bent down to pick up his sweatshirt, and then he turned to look at Sev. His expression was unreadable. "Yes, Sev," he said quietly, "I like you."

Exhaling, Sev allowed himself to finally calm the fuck down. "I like you too, Mr. Duarte."

Caleb smiled wryly at that, slipping on his sweatshirt. "Let's go," he said.

It would have been too much to beg him to let them stay, to let them cuddle all night, and have more sex, and more spanking, and just...more. Sev didn't give a shit about the meet, or getting back, or whatever. He just wanted to be with Caleb. Caleb, who liked him.

But Caleb was already gathering his wallet, and dumping the rest of the condoms and lube in the trash. He nodded for Sev to follow him, and Sev got up, taking one last furtive glance at the bed where he lost his virginity.

'''''

The meet went well.

Sev hadn't really expected to be olympic-quality. Also, he kinda knew he wouldn't catch any recruiter's eye. He was good, but he was good at his small, rural high school. This wasn't some sports movie where the meet defined the rest of his life

And maybe Caleb hadn't known that. But Sev was fully prepared to grovel, he was completely committed to begging for forgiveness, because he really had been upset, and he really had needed proof that he wasn't some annoying bug in Caleb's face. That Caleb actually liked him.

At school the next week, he walked into swim practice late, kids were already doing their warm-up laps. Mr. Simmons was standing at the edge of the pool, blowing his whistle. When he saw Sev, he stopped. In fact, he froze. Which seemed like a pretty strong clue, but in retrospect, Sev was too fucking high on cloud nine to really pay attention to the flash of rage on Mr. Simmons' face until it was right in Sev's face.

"Barton," Simmons ground out, "I need to speak with you."

He didn't wait for Sev to give him an answer, he basically dragged Sev to the locker room, and shoved him inside. Sev spun around, ready for a fight, and saw Simmons observing him, arms crossed. "I don't know—understand—what happened, but it's over."

Sev felt the blood drain from his face. But then righteous indignation clawed through his stomach. "Like hell, I'm eighteen you know, he and I—"

"No." Simmons held up his hand, and then oddly, his expression softened. "I mean, it's over. Caleb is gone."

Something was wrong. And Sev got the feeling he was seeing it just a little too slowly, He tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Gone...what does. What the fuck does that mean?"

When Simmons didn't respond, Sev looked up at his fucking stupid, chiseled face, but all he saw was a faint trace of regret. "Sev, whatever that guy did with you was wrong. He had his issues, and he should have left the school earlier than he did."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Sev breathed, his voice rising. His chest clenched painfully. "I mean, you were the one making him suck your cock after school, don't talk to me about issues. You're fucking straight, Jesus, but you strung him along for ten years? And now you're acting all high and mighty?"

Even as Sev ranted, he wasn't really paying attention to what he was saying. All he could hear was he's gone he's gone he's gone.

"Sev," Simmons cut over him, looking extremely uncomfortable. "Ok, yes, this whole thing has been...not the best. But Caleb's finally made the right decision, I guess, going to that artist retreat thing—"

"What retreat thing?" Sev begged, stepping towards Mr. Simmons. "Where?"

Mr. Simmons paused, and then shook his head. "I can't tell you, Sev."

"But..." Sev said, "he likes me."

"Yeah," Mr. Simmons said gruffly, "A student. He really took the cake on this one." Which was when Sev realized Mr. Simmons wasn't angry at him. "Who knows what he was thinking. Going after a student, I just...and telling you about what he and I did. I'm really sorry about this, Sev. He's never really been happy, and to drag you down with him..."

Sev tuned him out. Stepping back, he collapsed down on one of the locker room benches, and dropped his forehead down on his palm.

Well. Caleb had run away, and Sev was alone again.

The thing was, it wasn't supposed to end like this.

-fin-


	11. Epilogue

Caleb Duarte had made a few mistakes in his life.

The most recent one—turning left on Harbor when he should have turned right—had him trundling down a bumpy, dirt road in his completely-falling-apart 1993 Honda Civic.

To be fair, he had never driven in this town. He and John had always taken the train in from the city, and then the bus to the school. Or sometimes they walked, when John was feeling generous.

But now Caleb lived in the town—which brings up, coincidentally, a few more of his mistakes. For instance, quitting a fairly good teaching job at twenty-nine to go live on an artist retreat slash commune type deal, turned out to be one hell of a misstep.

When running full speed and blindly from a career and possibly life ruining disaster, one should not join a pyramid-scheme of an artist retreat.

Because, now, Caleb was thirty-three. And he couldn't find a job anywhere in this shitter of an economy. And he finally cracked, and called the in he had at that high school. Where he learned he had a few friends left, and the old woman who had replaced him had actually come out of retirement to do so, and was more than willing to go back to her gardening and teacup collecting.

So, at least Caleb had a job again. Sure, it was the same job that he had left behind, but it had health benefits, and his retirement was still sitting pretty, ready to be added to after four years of neglect. He wasn't broken up about leaving the city, he had always liked the hot, dusty feel of the town, and the rent was certainly appealing. So, fine. He was back to being an art teacher.

That is, if Caleb could find his way back to civilization. He was just about to give up on that hope, when he suddenly heard a police siren, and jumped. Looking in his rearview mirror, he saw, indeed, a cruiser coming up behind him. He came to a stop. He watched the cruiser stop, and the door swing open. A man got out.

Rolling down his window, Caleb grabbed his wallet just in case. He heard the crunching of gravel, and looked up. In front of him was six feet plus of thick muscle, clothed in a dark policeman's outfit. Aviators reflected Caleb's image back at him, but he was more concerned with the man's square jaw, and lips settled in a frown.

There was nothing teenager about him.

"You're on private property, you know," the man said.

Caleb exhaled. "Sev, you look like a stripper."

"Get out."

Gaze jerking up, Caleb almost, almost, gaped. This tone, this cold, unaffected tone. It was so unlike Sev, that Caleb had to wonder if he had been wrong in his assumption.

There was a thud on the top of his car, and he flinched. "Step out of the vehicle."

"Yeah," Caleb breathed, clicking his door open and unlatching his seatbelt. He stepped out of the car, straightening up. He couldn't take his eyes off Sev. The crisp lines of the uniform were complimenting broad shoulders quite well. The badge...the gun...Caleb had to tear his gaze away, and he looked to the ground. "So, you're a cop," he said faintly.

Sev didn't react. He nodded towards the back of the car. "Hands on the trunk."

Caleb had to eye him for a split second, curious where this was going. And that split second apparently set Sev off. He grabbed Caleb by the upper arm, and shoved him towards the trunk. Stumbling, Caleb caught himself on the side of the car, and then looked over his shoulder, eyebrows raised, nerves starting to tingle with apprehension.

But he couldn't see anything behind those sunglasses. So, he nodded, and tentatively stepped to the back of the car, and placed his hands on the trunk. Sev kept watching him.

"This cannot be regulation," Caleb said slowly.

Still no reaction. Caleb wondered if he should be worried.

Then Sev came around behind him, his presence just there for a moment, making Caleb's back itch. Caleb flinched when he felt a hands rest on his waist. Fingers curled around, digging into him, and then slid up, dragging his shirt up with them. He exhaled a shuddering breath, but managed not to say anything until the rough pads of Sev's fingers ran over his nipples, and then Caleb jumped backwards, knocking into Sev.

"Hold it," he breathed, "What the hell is this?"

"Routine pat down." Sev's voice was thicker than Caleb remembered.

"Like hell," Caleb said, trying to twist around, but Sev was holding him steady. He shoved Caleb forwards against the car, and Caleb braced himself on his palms with a string of curses.

"This will get you fired, Sev!"

He heard a low chuckle. Which was when embarassment hit him, because...yes, that was probably the most hypocritical, idiotic thing he had ever said in his life.

And then Sev's hands were on him again, fingers kneading into his skin. He barely got a gasp out when Sev crushed forward, weighing Caleb down against the trunk of the car. He kept breathing against Caleb's neck. Caleb tried to push them back up, his arms straining, and then he felt a leg kick his thighs apart, and he grunted.

"Sev...Sev, what are you doing?"

Teeth grazed the side of his throat. A hand slipped to his fly, unhooking the button. He grabbed at Sev's wrist, trying to pull the hand away from his crotch as he breathed nervously.

He didn't want Sev to know how hard he was.

Because he was cornered against a car by a cop, in the middle of nowhere, and god it was making him hot. And he had the feeling that's exactly what Sev was going for. Caleb kept squirming, his ass brushing back, and he definitely felt how hard Sev was—and shit, this could not be happening. "Come on, Sev, say something, this is...please—"

He felt his belt slide out its loops. His pants fell to his ankles.

The first lick was so sharp, bit in so hard, that Caleb might as well have not been wearing underwear. His eyes widened, ass throbbing. He stared down at the rusted paint of his car, breathing slowly and shaking. "You're scaring me," he said quietly.

"You don't like it?"

Caleb bit his lip, dropping his head. Drawing in a long, steadying breath, he slid out over the car, angling his ass up.

And then Sev gave him a fucking beating. Caleb's underwear was in shreds by the end of it, tears streaming down his face. He kept scrabbling forward on the trunk, as if he thought he could just climb up and away. But it was that high he loved, so, so much. His brain fogging out, heat and pain scorching up his body.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, face a disgusting mess of snot and tears. All it got him was another stroke, just as hard as the very first one. He flinched, crying out, and buried his head in his arms. "Ow..." he moaned, face scrunching, "please, Sev, I'm sorry..."

He heard the belt fall on the ground, and trembled. He made to stand up, when a hand square on his back shoved him back down. He heard the zip of Sev's fly.

Without thinking, he obediently spread his legs.

There was pause, and then he heard Sev exhale wearily. And then he heard Sev spit. Slick fingers shoved into Caleb without preamble, and he jerked forward with a gasp. This was...certainly different than the fuck they had four years ago.

Sev scissored his fingers wide, and Caleb bit his lip to stifle a moan. The fingers left. A final slap landed on his hurting ass, forcing a high whine out of Caleb. He heard the tearing of a condom wrapper, and an errant thought that Sev must have figured out how to use them crossed his mind.

He felt the tip of Sev's cock rub against him, and then shove in forcefully. Hands clasped his waist.

His feet were nearly off the ground with the way Sev fucked him, hard and fast and with absolutely no care as to how Caleb was feeling. Which, coincidentally, was pretty much how Caleb just fucking loved it. He had nothing to grip onto, sliding up and down on the trunk, and there was just no way of maintaining any dignity. He sank his teeth into his arm, clawing his hair with his other hand as Sev used him.

What Caleb was feeling—was the hurt, scarred feelings of an abandoned teenager. Every rough thrust into him, the pain and humiliation that Sev was making him feel, he was getting the message. He had fucked up.

Breathing raggedly, he turned his head, and saw through the corner of his eye that Sev was bent over close to him. He was still hidden by the sunglasses, but when Caleb looked, his expression tightened, like he had been watching Caleb's every move.

And then, Sev leaned down and gently kissed Caleb's cheek. As if Caleb was something precious to him.

Caleb's eyebrows pinched together with confusion, but then Sev tensed up, letting out a grunt as he came. He had very pointedly not gotten Caleb off, sliding out without a word.

"Well," Caleb said weakly, swallowing. He pushed himself up, but then heard rustling and realized Sev had knelt down to grab his pants.

"Here," Sev said gruffly, and Caleb turned to take them from him.

Very stiffly, wincing at the pain, Caleb pulled his pants back on, and did the fly. He sniffed, wiping at his face. "Ok," he said, trying to sound light, "I'm—sorry, I've always been sorry." With that, he turned to go back to his car when a hand wrapped around his wrist.

"Where are you going?"

And, honest to god, that was the first time Caleb finally recognized the Sev he knew. Heard the vulnerability in his voice. He glanced around, eyebrows raised. "Where? The school." He frowned. "I thought, well, you got what you wanted, right?"

The hand on his wrist tightened. "Why would that be what I want?" Sev jerked Caleb forward a little, and Caleb stumbled, but Sev caught him around the waist.

"Can you take those off?" Caleb said suddenly, looking up at the sunglasses. Sev was silent for a second, and then reached up and slid the Aviators off, his eyes coming into view. They were a lot more serious than Caleb remembered. "A cop, huh?" he said with a wry smile. "They know about the pot, Sev?"

"Will you go on a date with me?"

Drawing up short, Caleb stared at him with wide eyes. "Wait...Sev—"

"I know you've moved into town. I avoided you because I knew I would..." Trailing off, Sev looked away for a moment, but then he was back, his eyes focused intently on Caleb. "Anyway, yeah I'm a cop. You know, I'm renting that old farmhouse the kids used to throw parties in? I fixed it up, and there's a—like a room—out in the backyard, well it could be a studio, like an art room, or whatever you call it."

His eyes widened. "Not that I'm asking you to move in with me, or anything, but maybe, you know...if things work out. There aren't any neighbors either, so people can't really hear any—" His lips cracked into a sheepish grin, "—screams, or crying, or whatever."

"Screams?" Caleb said despite himself, quirking an eyebrow. Sev exhaled through his nose with amusement, licking his lips.

Caleb's humor ebbed. "Sev, I've done so many shitty things to you."

"We did shitty things to each other."

Shaking his head, Caleb started to back away. He swallowed when Sev pushed him back against the car, caging him in with one arm resting on the hood. "I'm not gonna ask why you ran," Sev said, his voice low, "Because, I had a lot of time to think about it. And, yeah, you had this unstable kid trying to get into your pants, and doing dumb shit that could have gotten you into a lot of trouble."

"But I still shouldn't have—" Caleb began. Sev cut him off with a quick peck.

"Simmons told me you and he never really talk anymore."

Caleb looked down at the ground. More like, he obsessively called John from the artist retreat, over and over and over until John finally flew out to come and tell Caleb that their co-dependant bullshit of a 'relationship' was over, and it was time that Caleb manned up and started hating John for allowing Caleb to cling on to him for ten years. Not like Caleb could ever hate him, but still...

He got the message.

"Yeah," he said vaguely. "It will be a little weird working with him again."

"Are you over him?"

Caleb nodded.

"I'm over Finch."

"But, Sev," Caleb said, and he knew his protesting was starting to sound a little weak. "It's been four years." He closed his eyes. Nothing like stating the obvious.

He felt another gentle kiss, this time on his forehead. "The thing is, Mr. Duarte, I haven't met anyone this whole time who could ever really make me forget you." A finger at his chin forced him to look up, and his eyes met Sev's. "Did you forget me?"

Caleb rubbed his cheek, feeling tired. "There's no way I could."

Catching his eye again, Sev gave him a teasing little smile. "You don't want to date a cop?"

"Shut up," Caleb muttered, averting his eyes to the ground, cheeks heating. "That's just not fair."

Sev laughed. "I know it's not. You know, this was Simmons' idea? When he heard I hadn't even applied for community college, he told me I should just go to the police academy. The first thing I thought when he said that was 'Mr. Duarte would fucking lose it if he was spanked by a cop'."

"I would lose it," Caleb confirmed darkly, eyeing Sev's uniform. "I did."

"You liked it, huh?" Sev grinned. "Then how about being a cop's boyfriend? I could bring this uniform home every night, and a pair of standard-issue handcuffs."

He was touching Caleb like he already owned him, like he had already won his case. He was rubbing his hand calmingly against Caleb's chest, sliding his palm up to cup Caleb's neck.

Caleb was almost a little sad. He knew this was still Sev, but this was adult Sev. This wasn't the Sev Caleb had so much fun twisting around his finger—not even taking a moment to question when he had gotten just as caught up in the whole thing as Sev was. And how much of an asshole Caleb had been.

Maybe...maybe it was time to give the kid a break.

"You think you'll be able to forgive me for just ditching you like that?"

Sev's expression relaxed a little. He grinned. "Knowing I'm going to beat your ass on a daily basis helps."

"On a daily basis, huh?" Caleb snorted. The warmth in Sev's tone eased Caleb's tense body. Slumping, he rested his face against the slope of Sev's neck. He felt strong arms wrap around him.

"Yeah," Sev murmured, ruffling his nose in Caleb's hair. "You won't dare leave me again. Not when I'm through with you." He slipped his hand under the waist of Caleb's pants, kneading the painful, hot flesh of Caleb's ass. Caleb sighed in appreciation, grinding back into Sev's grip.

"This farmhouse of yours, there's really not any neighbors?"

"Clear for miles."

He could see it. He could see visiting Sev at his farmhouse, and them getting to know each other and cooking dinners and watching movies and fucking. Also, spanking. Caleb really wanted to know how Sev would handle a switch, or maybe a lexan paddle. And all that deep down heartache that Sev was feeling, Caleb could soothe that away.

He wasn't scared anymore. Sev wasn't his student, and John was no longer his reason for existence. He was definitely ready to be with someone who wanted him. He craved it.

"Mr. Duarte?" Sev was watching him closely now, still holding him tightly.

Caleb nodded. "Ok, Sev. Let's date."

He heard Sev exhale. "Do you really want to?"

"Yes."

Sev's hold tightened. "Yes, what?"

Caleb rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, and then cast his eyes down with meek deference. "Yes, sir."


End file.
